


I might have tried to shoot the sheriff, but I want to fuck the deputy.

by DexleyAlhibostic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Caledfwlch | Calesvol | Excalibur, Country & Western, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Crimes & Criminals, F/F, I've got the horses in the back, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapped, M/M, Minor Violence, Mystery, Robbery, Starvation, Whodunnit, i'll add people as i go - Freeform, its fucking gay as shit in here, modern slag used in the wrong time frame, my personal homosexual sauna, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-12-28 14:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DexleyAlhibostic/pseuds/DexleyAlhibostic
Summary: In the sleepy town of Erthsee, with a population standing little over 70 residents, a stranger wanders into town with multiple gunshot wounds before passing out. This dump ass is the legendary cowboy Dave motherfucking Strider, who was in fact so legendary first thing he did upon arrival is pass the fuck out and fall off his horse like a sack of unconscious potatoes. This is where our boy Karkat Vantas enters stage left, with the unconscious body of a stranger at his feet. After shenanigans and  absolute bullshittery ensues, these two fellas are going to join together and unite over crime, justice, violence and murder.welcome to the wild wild west.Aka, the one where Dave and Karkat try to solve mysteries while being morons in the emotional department.(the title is misleading I do not plan on writing smut. I just thought it was funny)





	1. It's hot and everything hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/GJ0mO8P37Eg  
just watch this. it is dave in this au.

I’ve always hated this time of year. During summers like this one, the air was always so god damn hot. I mean like, hotter than a fucking skillet sizzling fries the most freshest of meat, it looks fat and juicy and tender as all hell. The nice slab of pure delicious nutrients just an overall artistic masterpiece of culinary design, made by the hands of the most gifted chef ever to live. 

But wait- what's this? The prior mentioned Michelangelo of fucking mystery meat seems to have turned his back on the super fucking hot pan. That chef man better get back to business or else this fine cuisine might just be over done- The flames are just straight up pouring out from beneath the pot. Oh god, it’s getting way to fucking hot in here, and the food, the pork/rib/ bacon/ham abomination thing, has caught on fire and is turning into nothing more then black disgusting ash as we speak. 

The kitchen is indeed getting to hot, and the people, who unfortunately have found themselves inside the kitchen, are truly truly unable to handle the heat, causing them to “get out of the kitchen”. But these total fucking bird brains forgot to turn off the stove, then proceeded to leave without turning it off. So they really shouldn’t be all that surprised when the entire building is burnt to a crisp. All black and crumbly and shit. Just like that piece of meat. God damn if it wasn’t a superb slab of some unknown animal, but now it was just charred and simply inedible. All because it was so very fucking hot. 

That’s how it always is in the summers around here. And of course, I have found myself yet again with a near fatal injury, traveling the vast distance from city to city on the back of a horse I may or may not have stolen from a dead man a couple months back. The sun is literally ripping my asshole in two, and the fact that I did not bring any rations is making this trip a lot more hellish then it is. I swear to god I can hear my own skin popping and sizzling like it was in fact me on the formerly mentioned metaphorical pan. Just sitting here on a horse in the middle of a prairies, sitting on my own juices as I am slowly cooked to death. 

I should really slow the roll with these cooking metaphors, it’s making me hallucinate a fucking desert oasis. Not only am I being mocked by my mind plaguing me with pictures of hella good food, but I swear to god it looks like there is a small and decrepit looking city on the horizon. Which just couldn’t be true. I have a goddamn map in my bags and i am sure as shit there was nothing anywhere near here. But then again, if I keep going I might die from the heat and or starvation, if I follow it and there’s nothing i die, and if either scenario somehow miraculously works? The possibility of me being killed in action, due to some other source is still incredibly high. 

Did I forget to mention I’ve been shot? Well yeah, I got shot. And not just once, but twice. I got what people will call a ‘combo meal’, but instead of food i was instead force fed a couple bullets. From what I can tell I have a bullet lodged in my shoulder, and another somewhere near where i think my liver should be? I don’t exactly have the location of my liver homed down to a science? Probably because I’ve never seen the thing outside of my body to be able to track down where the hell it is now. Do I even have a liver? I mean, I've never seen the damn thing. So what the hell would i know? I mean I’m just some dumb ass gun slinging vigilante, who's been running away from a man may who or may not have been hunting me down like a bloodhound for the past three months. All the while getting fucking shot at and kicked out of every town I cross. 

I guess this just goes to show that I just can’t fucking relax for a single god damn second in the history of ever, ‘cause if I do I end up like this, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, slowly bleeding to death on the back of a horse i don’t know the name of, all the while I’m literally starving to death, and being roasted alive like i’m a marshmallow, stick up my ass and dangling over the fire until I turn a nice brown color. You know the one, the one that marks a marshmallow roasted to fucking perfection.

But i am currently distracted from that because the rinky dink mystery town in the distance seems to actually be getting closer? I thought that because they were a hallucination, brought on by the drug formerly known as ‘hunger and desperation,’ that the small town would infinitely stay on the horizon, never getting any closer, infinitely out of reach. Like how the top shelf seemed to a seven year old, completely unattainable, yet still within sight, a complete fucking mockery. 

But that isn’t what’s happening. It’s actually getting closer, steadily. Almost like its an omnipotent being floating forward with an unmistakable aura of power and rejuvenation. And when I say floating, I mean hovering a few inches to a foot above the ground, like this motherfucker could obviously do much more than float the fuck over like a super over powered ghost. But by simply hovering above the dirt cracked ground, it asserts dominance, like “hey, you cant fuck with me, I’m literally an entire fucking city.” before bringing you in and letting you stay within its parameters. Gracing you with a roof over your head, and possibly some rations.

I really can't think in sentences longer then six words, but there are two that have filled up my scull and lit a fucking fire in my, dispite it already being way too hot. Two thoughts that propelled me to kick this mystery horse in the side and really get going. Two thoughts that pushed through the intrusive and domineering pain, misery, and hopelessness, and brought the spark of hope into my thoughts again.

This thing is real. This thing could save me. 

So you know what I did? I rode like hell over to the distant signs of humanity, using up all my remaining energy. My fragile human body’s last hurrah, if you will. My vision blurred as the town quickly advanced towards me, everything was ringing. But I think i made it? It looks like made it? I heard distant muffled yelling from in front of me, but I couldn't make out words or faces of the voice, but I can tell something is approaching.  
“Howdy” was the only thing I’m able to mutter out, it was slurred enough I probably sound like i'm hammered but I can't exactly focus on that right now, I can’t focus on anything at all.

Because after I said that I fell off my horse and passed out.

___

A young man stood peering over to this very tired, and very injured cowboy who just happened to stumble into town on his horse, flash him a dumb as fuck looking smile and a pair of limp and slightly pathetic finger guns, say the word “Howey” in a tone that might have sounded cool if he wasn’t slurring his words so bad, or maybe like he was just trying to sound cool? Then he flopped off of the horse and onto the hard dirt floor. 

“OKAY. WHAT THE FUCK.”


	2. OKAY WHAT THE FUCK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He heard a voice while passing out did he not? Let's go and listen to the other guy's take on what happened that day.

So let’s start this off at the beginning. Where I was and what I was doing moments before the incident. As the deputy of the small mining town of Erthsee, I usually end up trying to do routine check ups on most of the social hubs in town, make sure nothing dangerous has happened, and that no one is in trouble, and if there seems to be an issue, it’s my job to clear it up. 

I had just came out of the pub, somewhere I tend to go a lot to both make sure no one shits them self too hard or tries to murder someone else on the other side of the establishment while piss drunk like a complete fucking lunatic, as well as the time to time occasion where I drink till I can’t feel my dick to numb the extent to how much I fucking hate myself. But more often than not I can’t just go off and be a reckless brain dead booze hungry hound dog like the rest of the damn city. But then again if I had to go down and work in the mines every day I’d want to drink till collapsed and died as well.

The saloon was as busy as it always was on a Thursday afternoon, which is to say filled enough for there to be a buzz in the room from random conversation, with the occasional boisterous yelling and laughing of drunken men whose current financial state is probably crippled by the fact that they are not working, and are instead drinking copious amounts of alcohol at high fucking noon. 

Anyway, I stepped in, talked to the bartender who sat behind the counter cleaning glasses and pouring drinks, generally being your normal npc like guy, since he doesn’t have a very defined personality exactly, but still being a very nice person nonetheless, as well as tactlessly dodging a conversation with one of the waitresses who work there, strange small girl with the most obvious and embarrassing crush on me. She unconsciously rolls her ‘R’s like she's trying to be a cat or something weird like that, but I did get a free cola out of it so i guess it was worth it? And then I left, having to do literally nothing in there for once, but i suppose it was just the silence in the air before a storm rolls in. 

And this storm storm was a strange mystery man, who I saw streaking towards town on the back of a horse he didn't seem to have any actual control over, once I exited the saloon. My initial reaction was to say “Who the fuck is that?” and rush forward into the middle of the street to get a better look at the fiasco. 

The man was skinny as fuck, like his limbs were small ass trees. Possibly a literal fucking albino, his hair was nearly white but with the tiniest bit of yellow. He wore the traditional cowboy uniform, the hat, a red poncho and had a sword strapped to his back. I guessed we were around the same age, looking to be somewhere within the ages of 18 and 23. The assailant was holding onto the horses reins like it was the only thing keeping him alive as he was jostled around on the back of his light brown horse like some sort of sad pathetic rag doll. He looked ten shades of fucked up. But the worrying part is that a loose cannon armed with a sword, if not a gun as well, was barreling towards my precious fucking city of Erthsee.

He came to a halt once he reached town, slowing down so that he can actually fucking stop. But now that he was actually closer I could tell the guy was in a horrible condition. He was hunched over and he seemed to say back and forth slowly, maybe he was drunk? But this guy wasn’t from round these parts that’s for fucking sure. This is a small town, small enough that they don’t even have it marked on the maps. No one other then the people who live here or have lived here know that this place exists. The only way someone would just run into us is if they just started to wonder in between towns, and the trip to either of the closest towns were at least three to four days travel. What the fuck was this jack ass doing? Why the fuck was he here?

“HEY, YOU, SLOW YOUR FUCKING HORSE YOU’RE GOING TO STOP AND FLY OFF THE LITERAL FUCKING HANDLE YOU ASS WIPE” I screamed at him, waving my arms frantically while rushing forward to meet this human cluster fuck head on. 

Swaying like the wind is gently rocking back and forth this motherfucker then stops inches in front of me acts like he can’t even fucking see me, his eyes dont reach my face he just stares behind me as if he smoked a little too much of the green shit. But he wasn’t stoned, that much was obvious.

“Hey? Hello? Earth to douche bag? Are you okay? What the hell are you doing here? You look like you were jumped by some jackasses with guns and a superiority complex. What the fuck happened to you? Can you even fucking hear me???” I spat at him viciously, staring up at him now that I had the time to actually look him over, and I had been since he had had gotten close enough to see in detail.

His skin looked red all over, like he'd just been sitting there in the sun for hours, maybe even days on end, or maybe he was just a fucking deformed burn victim. His lip was split, half of his face looked to be a dark purple, mostly the skin around his right eye. It was pretty easy to see despite the fact he hit half his goddamn face with a pair of bullshit sunglasses. But the most startling thing had to be the blood that was caked onto his bare hands, it was smeared all over his horse’s short fur, and had been smudged onto his face and into his hair. It all seemed to be coming from his shoulder and side.

He then seemed to notice I was actually standing there, he shifted to sit up straighter, tried to flash a charismatic smile, but failed horribly, looking more like he just realized he had shat himself while up on his literal high horse. Then he pointed a tired finger at me in a way that made his arms looked like they were made of lead. The fucking undead horseman opened his mouth, and I was presently supervised his jaw didn’t literally fall off.

“Howwwweyy” 

Then the zoned out, brain fried motherfucker did something I was not expecting. Leaning a little to far to the left, the blonde fella collapsed and flopped off the horse like had been pushed off nonchalantly by some invisible fucking force with a personal vendetta against him, who's rabid need for revenge can only be quenched though mildly violent acts. While he lay on the ground, sprawled out below my feet like his limbs were made of limp noodles. With him seemingly out for good i just stared at his body that lay slack on the ground in complete and utter disbelief. I was at a loss for words. Which, if you know me, speaks to the extent of my shock and confusion. 

But then I wasn’t, so I of course impulsively opened my fat fucking mouth to blither out whatever words that burrowed themselves into my head space, which admittedly wasn’t all that much this time.

“OKAY. WHAT THE FUCK.”

I looked up at the horse, which had bags full of blondie’s miscellaneous personal possessions strapped to its hips. Then towards the street, which was empty as ever, without a single fucking half decent human being to help me in doing what I have to do. I was alone. I was alone and responsible for a stranger’s life. I knew what I had to do but i just really didn’t want to do it. Peering back down at the horribly injured guy at my feel I came to the realization that I couldn’t just leave the guy like this. This guy looks like he is literally on death’s doorstep and I couldn’t just fucking sit here and let this random shit head die, no matter how completely fucking bizarre this string of events were. That is just wrong. 

So, I went back into the saloon and bought some rope from off the bartender, pocketed it for later, before hoisting the guy back onto his horse, then getting on myself. I don't exactly know how to ride a fucking horse properly like that. 

I mean it’s not like I can’t ride. I’m not totally ignorant like you may think. I’ve just never had to ride a horse anywhere with a bloody unconscious lump in the back seat. Hell, it was almost impossible to get the insufferable shitbag up on the horse alone. The motherfucker was at least six feet of limp noodles, flopping over pathetically whenever I picked him up. He was heavier than he looked, that and he was just bigger than I was, so hoisting him over the horse was considerably difficult. But it was nothing I couldn’t take. 

So after like five minutes of awkwardly groping this stranger and huffing in pitiful aggravation, attempting to throw him onto his horse like a sack of flower, I finally fucking succeeded. Pulling myself up onto the back of the horse, who’s hair still covered in caked with dried blood, the horse began forward as I directed it in the direction of the only place I knew to go. Kanaya’s.

When I got to her small cottage on the farther edge of town I hopped off the horse and unceremoniously ripped the stranger off of the horse by his feet and let him, once again, crumple to the ground. After tying the horse to a tree with the shitty rope I had bought from that shitty bar, full of sleazy greasy sad sacks, I grabbed the stranger from under the arms and dragged him to the doorstep and knocked on the dark wooden door.  
She said something like; “I’ll be right there in just one second!” before getting the door, there was an audible sound of some sort if ruckus from within the confines of the two to three room building. 

“I don’t think you could be doing much that could be more valuable then your literal fucking job right now.” I shot back, just as loud. The blonde sword toting stranger was getting heavier by the second, and each second that passed made me even more convinced I should just drop him right here in front of her door and leave. But I didn’t.

“Oh Kartat!” Kanaya exclaimed, looking down a me with surprise and excitement, only for her brow to furrow at the sight of this bloody and beaten almost corpse I held limply in my arms. “I don’t mean to be rude, but who the hell is this and what the hell happened to them?” She quickly opened the door for me to drag him in. 

This was basically routine at this point. Being the deputy of this town, I am legally responsible for cleaning up the brown stains left on the ground after anyone shits themselves to hard. The designated sacrifice who has to go in and calm down fights, making sure these dip shits don’t accidentally blow their head off after forgetting they had already loaded their guns, and dealing with the general aftermath of what usually ends up being a little kerfuffle in the daily dip shit parade. So it wasn’t rare for me to bring the complete illogical shit muffins, who were too dumb to either back off or learn how to fight, here, to Kanaya; the only doctor in this god forsaken hell hole of a town. 

However, when I drop dumb asses onto her doorstep, they are actually fucking conscious more then three fourths of the time. Not only was this guy seemingly waiting for death to sweep his cowboy soul from off the ground and off towards his eternal vacation in the sky, but he didn’t even live here. Neither of us had seen this jackass in our entire span of existing. This guy was undefined in every fucking meaning of the word. His appearance and existence in our rinky dink town could baffle scientists all over the fucking planet.

“I have just as much of a clue as you do. He rode into town like something was fucking biting at his tail, stopped in the middle of the fucking road once he actually here, then passed out and fell off his horse like- like- I don’t even know. But he’s hurt, I think he’s been shot. I dropped him multiple times and the rancid husk didn’t even react- at all! To anything! Is he fucking dead? If I’ve been pulling a literal dead body across town for the past hour I’m going to rip out my own hair and strangle myself with it. This dumbass- this absolute ignoramus- medically brain dead vegetable ass douche bag!!”

I furiously ranted about my day’s annoyances as she quickly cleared a table off by simply scooping the bottles, fabrics, food items and other miscellaneous bullshit into her arms like a basket and then rushing them to be dropped off on a separate surface. Then she returned and picked him up bridal style in her slender arms and placing him gently onto the table. It was something that we had practiced hundreds of times before this one, like a performance of constant movement, featuring a half dead stranger I found an hour ago.

Kanaya looked really fucking confused for a second, before sighing and turning away. “I’m going to get some supplies needed to clean the wounds and operate. So if you could be a dear take off his shirt and those accessories? You know, the sunglasses and the sword? Just get it off. I would have demanded he take such garish things off when entering my home either way but he doesn’t seem to be awake to do that. That would be wonderful. Oh! and it would be even better if you could get some of the blood off of him as well?”

I nodded, cause what the fuck am I going to do? Completely disregard her directions like a fucking moron? She’s the fucking medical professional here, not me. So of course I listened. 

I’m not saying I didn’t hesitate, I’m not a brainless automaton whose actions are purely based off of the bullshit requests are inputted into its brain. So I didn’t just rip off this stranger’s shirts like some kind of ravenous beast. I tried to respect the guy as much as I could in this scenario, even if my prior attempts if helping him had shown him close to no respect at all. But I was keenly aware of what I was doing, stripping this comatose mad man’s shirt off his body after he had barely even uttered a word to me, if what he said could even be considered a real word. It wasn’t. What he can not be found in any dictionary, because it simply is not a fucking part of the English language. As well as keenly aware of the pistol that shone like a diamond in the holster on his hip. I quickly took it off of his person. This guy probably just got drunk out of his mind and shot himself on accident, he sure does seem the type. 

It also came to my awareness that this guy both was not that bad on the eyes, and that he does hard physical labor, or something that required muscle, because for how skinny this guy is, it’s almost unfair how well toned. I think he had something resembling a six pack? I mean it couldn’t have been an actual six pack cause this albino looking garbage brained motherfucker couldn’t have been blessed by the divine ‘buff as all fuck’ powers. It would just be totally unfair to everyone. Especially me. Not only that but his face was rather sharp, but his skin looked smooth and his eyes seemed friendly, and his hair fell onto his skin in a way that made him look ethereal. If it weren’t for the horrible injuries I would have said he was good looking. But unfortunately that’s still a thing that’s there, so i have to say he’s super fucking ugly. 

Kanaya returned with her supplies and I went to the position I usually ended up in during these emergency situations, aka sitting right next to her and watching pathetically while flipping my literal shit cakes over whether or not the person in question will be okay, and from time to time, handing her the needed materials. It took what seemed like forever, but she seemed to have gotten them both out with no problem at all. After putting some alcohol in the wound she tied them up with string and called it quits. Leaving me to carry him into the single room she has as a guest room in the attic for those who are injured. 

I didn’t go back to work after that.


	3. The one where the totally cool straight guy wakes up after being comatose for two days and pretends nothing ever happened.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave goes around town and talks to a few familiar faces

I woke up in a room I've never seen before with a woman I’ve never seen before in the room with me. Don’t get me wrong, this happens literally all the time. At this point, I’d almost consider it a fucking inconvenience being this popular with the ladies. I mean, I love my life, my life is great in every fucking way concieveable by man kind. But sometimes being swamped in bitches, and trying to trek through the jungle of putang being constantly and desperately flung in my direction is a bit of a burden. You see, I can’t be tied down. There is so much rad shit going down in life de Strider that I just can’t be held back by these assorted hoes. The sheer amount of flames and sick tricks I perform with an hour would be enough to burn most people. The bitches wouldn’t be able to withstand the power. They would need to be escorted out of the premises after passing the fuck out, the heat was just too much for them, and just about everyone else on the planet. But here’s the kicker, I’m not most people. 

The lady that I was talking about earlier looked at me like I grew a second head, and then started speaking a different language. She stopped pouring what looked to be a pitcher of water into a porcelain pot and looked up at me. She looked like a school teacher, not that I’ve ever gone to school, I’m generally too good to be taught anything with the likes of the general public. But her face was long and her body was slender. Personally not my type, I mean I get why some people would be into MILFs, but personally that’s just not my personal preference. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt what you’re doing over there, but you seem to be mumbling, so I should also assume that you are finally awake enough to have a somewhat regular stream of thought. Although I could not manage for the life of me distinguish what the fuck you were trying to say. Something about ‘the ladies’ ‘the jungle’ ‘flames’ and something needing to be ‘escorted out of the premises’. All of which made no fucking sense and will completely ignore. From this point forward, that never happened. Now. I want you to tell me what your name is and what happened to you. I would like to get you out of my house as quickly as possible.” 

I reached up towards my face to adjust my shades, only to realize they were not there, which, to me, was a much more pressing issue then telling the water lady what my name is. But I appeased her anyways.

“The name is Strider, Dave. And I seem to be missing my shades, which, I’ll have you know, are very fucking important to the traditional Strider style. They help me be all mysterious, ladies love it, the dudes dig it. That and my eyes are kind of sensitive so they help with that. But it’s mostly the first thing? So I kind of need them. Thanks”

The woman looked down at me firmly, I could literally see her judging me and what she should do in response. To put it bluntly, I really didn’t fucking like it.   
“All of your belongings are on the chair next to your bed, all of which that was on your horse is also beside you, Karkat brought them in after helping me clean and dress your wounds, thinking you might have something in there that could be destroyed if it were to rain. He also left you some clothes, considering yours were completely ruined from the blood that was soaked into them, apparently they are his. I expect you may need some time to recuperate from the injuries you sustained, take as much time as you need, but if I see that you are no longer recuperating and instead are exploiting my kindness to your benefit I will not hesitate to kick you out of my house.” 

As she said, everything i got here with was sitting neatly beside me, folded gently like it was something mama’ put out for her little Timmy’s first day of school, everything packed up and ready to go. All that's left to do is to slap a big old wet kiss on little Timmy’s forehead and watch him run off and grow up onto a big strong boy, who will always be ‘mama’s lil pumpkin’. 

“I won’t be needing to stay here any more than I already have thanks,” I said, still laying it on thick with the nonchalant smug bastard schtick, shooting her a matching smile, “I just needed to get some sleep and some food in me and I would have handled the rest myself, nothing I haven’t done before, no biggie.” I got up from the bet she had put me in, which seemed to surprise he considering how she physically winced when I stood up, then looked bewildered that I was not sharing her pain.

“I don’t know if you had noticed before you blacked out, but you had been shot multiple times in the chest, not only that but you had sustained multiple deep cuts across your body that had to be closed up with stitches. I had to dislodge the bullets from somewhere dangerously close to your internal organs. You could have died! We had thought you died!” She says, her voice still perfectly in check, only changing slightly at the end to put emphasis on the last two ideas. It was like she was scolding a child. Which I will again mention, is not exactly something I enjoy. I don’t want her fucking pity, and I’m not just a charity cause. 

“Yeah yeah, i coulda handled it myself. Seriously, this is nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Just another day in the life. Get shot at, get into a sword fight, almost die? It’s all in a day's work. I’m just an acrobatic legend doing a mystifying dance in circles around death himself. And death is sitting there all cloaked and mysterious and shit giving me a solid round of applause while nodding affirmingly. Like he’s sitting there clouded in a black deadly smoke just thinking ‘fuck yeah, thats the coolest shit I’ve seen in weeks, you go dave’ then he shakes my hand and we part ways, only to do the same god damn thing next week. We’re long time business partners. Bought a timeshare from that bastard and it really wasn’t my best purchase. Definitely not getting my money’s worth thats for sure. Conniving bastard always trying to get my ass for the smallest fucking hiccups, I don’t even have the god damn money! I can’t fucking pay you and i really don’t want to pay up yet-’ 

“Please shut the fuck up, you talk more then my girlfiend, but at least what she says has substance, you just blither on about whatever your hear desires” The woman inturrupted in a way that sounded more apethetic then my parental figure, she didn’t sound like she wanted me dead, simply that me talking her ear off was in inconvenience. I apologize while chang onto the clothes she had provided for me. 

“Uh, thanks for the hospitality by the way… uh.. Lady.” had she mentioned her name? I know she mentioned a name, but I think she was talking about someone else? But who the fuck else would she be talking about? It’s just us here. But either way I subtly dropped the hint that I didn’t know, and would like to know her name. 

She sighed heavily as she rolled her eyes dramatically. Putting down the pitcher with the grace of a fucking ballerina, like her movements were all a part of breathtaking performance of swan lake, even if she technically wasn’t actually dancing. Then she looked at me with a deadpan look that simply screamed ‘you retard’. 

“My name is Kanaya Maryam, and I will have you know it was not my idea to show to such hospitality. I would have been perfectly fine leaving you on the table where I operated on you, but Karkat was adamant that we ‘had the common decency’ to treat you ‘like a actual fucking human being,’. He was going to relocate you to his own home, which would have reopened your stitches during his journey there. Since his home is on the other side of town near the town jail. He was the one who made sure you were comfortable. I simply made sure you weren’t dead or dying. Which it seems I have done. So I believe my responsibility.” She said simply, turning towards the door that seemed to lead to a staircase descending downward.

“Well either way, you still patched me up and all that. Stitched me togeather like a fuckin rag doll you found with the limbs torn off. You used your super awesome healy powers on me to return to my totally baller self. I am now a real boy thanks to your sheer generosity. Fucking jumping around your room doing jigs and shit. Getting literally jigey over here if you know what I mean. But I, like most great things, don’t last long. So I’m probably going to be getting the fuck outta dodge as soon as possible. I mean what can I say? I’m a busy guy who has to stay busy.” I shrugged, finally buttoning the shirt and putting on the vest this other dude had given to me. 

“Leaving already?” She asked curiously, her eyebrows, which were fucking stunning, were cocked in curiosity. “We barely have visitors in this city anyway, so I guess it would be nieve to believe you were going to stay for much more than a pit stop. But I believe- before you go, make sure to check in with Karkat. He seemed to be very concerned with your condition. I think it may be just how he views the world around him, but it’s as if he sees everyone around him as a responsibility. That he is morally obligated to make sure you’re okay. I know he would be downright pissed if you left town without even saying goodbye, especially after how long he sat and waited for you to wake up.”

Now that stopped me in my tracks for a second, this random guy was worried about me? I don’t even know the guy, yet he waited for me to wake up? 

I mean, it was just a simple slip up of composure, it was more likely then not that Kanaya didn’t even notice the shift under my shades. Thank god for the shades. I played it off grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, the one that wasn’t recovering from being fucking shot. 

“So you’re telling me some random guy I don’t know sat here and watched me, waiting for me to wake up? I don’t mean to be self centered or anything, but that sounds pretty damn stalker-ish if you ask me. Are you sure he’s a stand-up guy? That sounded more like a description of Mr.creep straight from Hornymotherfucker- vile. Don’t mean to be rude miss, but that isn’t something I’d want to touch with a five foot pole.” I chuckled, just enough to make it sound like I genuinely found it weird creepy and kinda funny instead of weird and oddly touching.

She seemed to take it, shaking her head firmly in disagreement. “And I do not believe Karkat’s only motive was to make sure you were okay. I am also lead to believe he was using you as a scapegoat to get out of work. I’ve heard things have been stressful with his work, the serial robberies have been escalating and the first official death has been linked with the culprits. From what I have heard from him, it is really stressing him out. They have no leads and he complains the sheriff only talks about working on and finishing the case, yet never actually puts those plans into motion. And has fallen to him to do it by himself. But that doesn’t lessen the fact that he was very worried that you weren’t going to make it, as well as doing small stupid things to make sure it wouldn’t be too horrible when you woke up. But I sincerely hope you try to track him down before you ‘get the fuck outta dodge’ as you so eloquently put it.” 

She paused, seeming to think she had finished her thought, until she turned around to face me in order to speak once again. “It’s not just for him by the way, if you don’t do this it is more likely than not that I will end up getting a belligerent earful about it for the next few days from him. Probably something about how you’re an ungrateful bastard who deserved to get shot repeatedly.” she shrugged as she stood in the doorway, ready to leave him alone for now, “but that would be fairly annoying, and I simply do not want to deal with his furious tyraids at the moment. So please, if you don’t mind trying to find him before you leave? That would be great.”

And then she was gone, like smoke, or an imprint of a vision of a stone cold angel, an angel that doesn’t take shit from nobody. One that’s ready to, I dunno, cut a motherfucker in two just because they pissed her off? Either way, she left a shadow where she stood, like she was still there just judging me for whatever fucking reason. 

So I listened to her advice, and promptly left Kanaya’s house and went twards the city with my few possessions and my stolen horse. I’ve decided on a name by the way. Our favorite horse boy will be now known as The Mayor. Why you ask? Because fuck you, this man is a symbol of fucking democracy all the way across the country. It may be completely nonsense, a name given with seemingly no logical connection to anything what-so-ever, but I have a feeling that somewhere, somehow, this name is fucking important. Even if it literally has no importance on my life at all at the moment. 

I didn’t get on the horse, my big old funny boy who has most definitely saved my life more then there already, instead opting to walk beside it with the rope it had been tied to a tree with in my hands, and I went to the place where I assumed the social buzz always was. The local saloon. If my travels from town to town with no real emotional attachments to anything had taught me anything, it’s that if you need to find someone, just go to the saloon and wait. No matter who they are they’re going to show up eventually.

Entering the parlor doors I was greeted with a familiar scene only with unfamiliar faces. A room full of already drunken strangers doing stupid drunk people things. Dodging a cup that had been thrown at a wall I silently sat down at the bar stool. I swear I could feel the entire room’s eyes glued to my back, just sitting there, staring at me without saying anything. It’s the stereotypical new kid situation, everyone’s eyes and attention immediately narrowing down on the new face, its something different. Something not seen before this moment. I could hear their mental analyses all the way around the room, but showed no mind. Gotta demonstrate to these uneducated fools the trademarked Strider swag. The impeccable badassery of the man with the name of Dave. A man who was born unbothered by all hardships and assholes who shoot bullets at me. 

“Can I get some Cola? Maybe some bread?” I asked the guy at the counter, leaning forward with my arm down on the table like the totally badass cool guy I just so happen to be.

To me, he looked like every other white guy in America. Not just a white guy, The White Guy™. The kind that finds pepper spicy and talks about stocks in conversations where they weren’t actually the central topic. He looked puzzled at my arrival for a second, before nodding and springing to his feet as he rushed to fulfill my request like some sort of bartending drone with one purpose and one purpose alone, to serve the masses like the lil’ tin can of a bastard he was born to be. But despite the fact that he seemed to sing like a bird at the prospect of serving someone a drink, it was still painfully obvious to anyone who has had to judge people’s expression for long, that he was uneasy and extremely hesitant of my presence, although I have to admit, the guy is good at playing the part as he served me a nice cold glass of cola and a warm charismatic smile. The kind people in the marketing business wear, but more sincere.

“So, fella, what’s ya name? Why’ve you stumbled through our lil town here?” He asked, getting straight to the questions was he? Damn, well I can’t just not answer this guy. His all-too-friendly disposition makes it rather hard not to respond to him. 

“The names Dave, Dave Strider. Don’t wear it out too much okay buddy? And I’m just passing through, don’t expect me to be here for long. I’ll be gone before you know it and all that will be left is the dust thrown into the wind when I’ve left.” I said, taking a quick swig from the cool glass. “What do they call you around here?” I shot back, pushing my shades up my nose a bit more.

“Most people just call me Egbert, but the name is John,” the bartender responded before returning to clean the glasses dirty glasses customers have left for him, he didn’t look up from the task at hand, quite literally, in his hands. “But why have you came through town? Are you by any chance our own Dirk Strider?” 

The name sounded really fucking familiar for some reason, like i had heard it in a dream a couple times, or maybe was married to the guy in a past life. A life where I was in fact a feeble Irish farm girl who died of the plague in the arms of one Dirk Strider. But I still had no idea who the fuck this guy is so I responded simply and calmly with “Nah, never heard of him. Sounds lame, like the fuckin discount brand vs the real shit. I am the real shit where this ‘Dirk’ guy is like, a similar knock off version, only it’s shittier and made with less heart. Nothing but a cheap knock off. It’s a sad existence really. I bet it sucks to be him” 

Johnny boy behind the counter looked up at me with a signature ‘what the hell is your damage’ look, that I bet only he can pull off right. Squinting his eyes in confusion and annoyance, as e jutted his face forward slightly. It was an expression one would wear when someone did something so mind nummingly stupid, then asked where the problem happened like they didnt even know themelf. It was the facial expression that you have while talking to a complete fucking moron. But I ignored that, simply because I know I’m not a ‘complete fucking moron’ and continued talking.

“Anyway, I don’t want to stay in one place for too long. You know guys like me have gotta keep on moving. I can’t be tied down. Once I can’t move I die. Like literally, like someone is tracking me down as we speak in the hopes of killing me. I just can’t stay in a town for too long or else the ladies start getting attached and it only hurts that much more when I leave. So if you don’t mind, do you know where I can find someone with the name Kargat Fantis?”

His face seemed to get even more angry and less confused, more or less just genuinely sad and pissed off at me. “You mean Karkat? Karkat Vantas?” he repeated putting emphasis on the correct pronunciation. Even though I deliberately waved it off with a smug grin. 

“Yeah, that bastard. I honestly have no idea who he is, but apparently he’s kinda responsible for me being alive right now? So I would like to thank him for that, if you don’t mind.” 

There was a moment of silence, where Egbert and I just stared at each other. I didn't speak because I was waiting for him to answer and he didn’t speak because he was too busy connecting the dots, weighing something mentally as he evaluated me. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you and Dirk have to be related or something. The sunglasses, The shitty sword, the rambly bullshitty nature. Yeah, there is physically no way you’re not related. You can’t just leave right now. You have to meet Dirk.”

I shook my head and took another swig of the drink I had bought. “Listen, buddy, I really genuinely don’t give a fuck. I have no idea who this guy is and I literally don’t give two shits about this guy. My family, from my knowledge, is wack, and I don’t want to run into any more bastards like me. Capiche? If he’s anything like me and my bro, I really don’t want anything to do with him. That and I’m here to do one thing here, and is to thank the guy with the weird ass name, then leave. So do you know where I can find the guy at this time of day?”

“Speak of the devil! There he is,” Egbert said as a grumpy frump of fabric and spite barreled through the parlor doors. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn ya”

Wait- this was the guy? The supposed creep who might have sat and watched him comatose for half a day. And how did he even appear on que like that? It was like the motherfucker was summoned into existence after saying his name three times while staring into a cup of cola. Or maybe it was convenient for this man to enter here at this moment all for the sake of the plot? Who knows. But what I did know is that this Karkat dude? Was equally hysterical and adorable. 

I mean that in the straightest way possible. He was just a petite little man with the fluffiest looking hair and the most pissed off resting bitch face I have ever seen in my life stomped into the saloon with a huff. The sweater he was wearing looked horrifically hot in the sweltering heat of the afternoon. It was big enough on him that it made him look tiny, his arms a bit too short for the sleeves. He looked like a fucking angry porqupine. It’s so angry it’s calling you a “literal cyst” that has “grown in the back of it’s mind,” and that it “will now need to pay a doctor to burn off”. The little ball of spikes is just screaming and yelling and stomping around like a seven year old having the biggest temper tantrum they have ever committed. But it's just genuinely adorible to watch, in a totally heterosexual way of course. The porcupine may bark and make whatever sort of noise porcupines make, but someone put cotton balls on his quills and its fucking halarious. It’s just a human contradiction.

“Hey! You actual fucking rectum crevice!!! Are you even listening to what I was saying?!?” He spat, attempting to get into my face, even though all I needed to do was stand up and I would be a healthy head taller than him once again, but I didn’t. Cause watching this man do whatever the hell he’s doing right now? This spaz anger thing? It was definitely worth a front row seat

“Nah, not really, but I did pick up that you were worried about widdle ol’ me.” I chuckled, only to watch the anger in his expression seethe deeper and for his voice to sound more outraged and scandalized. 

“Then let me fucking reiterate what I have already said, just because your fucking majisty thought he could just not pay attenion to the world around him at all. It seems the prince of ignorant fucking imbiciles has lived with the blessing of never having to give a fuck about anything ever. To busy jacking off to the sound of your voice in your head while royally fondling your own balls. But here’s a fucking news flash princess, durring conversations with other human beings, you need to gather what little braincells you have lest in that hallow ass scull of yours and actually pay a fucking tention!!” Karkat spat, with the fury of a thousand suns. His fists were balled up and his jaw was clenched so tight it was like someone had put metal rods in there to seal it shut forever. 

Did I mention he was loud? Because sweet mother of mary on a hot summer day, this guy was louder than a fog horn. Louder than a car alarm at midnight. Louder than a weather alert noise when you’re alone watching tv. Louder then the sound of a firetruck. Louder then your fuckin mom. Like this guy has the most powerful vocal cords, I will bet he is able to bench press twice his weight with his vocal chords alone. Like this shit is straight up supernatural, coming in here and screaming all over the place like he wants to be some sort of banshee when he grows up. Screaming louder than tarzan when that motherfucker swings branch to branch. And it was fucking halarious.

That being said, of course I laughed at him, buckling over myself before wiping my eyes and regaining that trademark coolkid Strider style. “Okay, okay, I hear ya, I need to listen more and pay more attention. It’s not like i haven’t heard those exact same words during much worse circumstances. Now what was that you were saying Huckleberry?” 

Holy fuck his reactions to everything are literally like mixing chemicals togeather and seeing what the hell will happen without any prior knoledge as to what might happen when you slap these two bitches togeather in a pot and mix em up a bit. 

“You- motherfucker... “ he growled under his breath, before trying to compose himself, which actually surprised you for a second there. This little ball of fury was capable of actually calming himself down. Or at least trying to. “I was asking you what your name is, and what the fuck sort of senario where you running from that got you shot twice?” 

“It’s cause that motherfucker knew he couldn’t kill someone as fucking mythic as the d-strides, the dave of guy, Strider. And I know you’re name is Karkat. Kanaya told me to go and look for you and prove that I’m okay before I leave for take off and blast the fuck off of the runway. But now that I’m actually here and talking I can’t help but think ‘damn, maybe I can stay for like. A few hours longer? I dunno.” 

“So, do you wanna actually talk instead of staring at me while being knocked the fuck unconsious? Take a seat Karkat, hell, considering the hospitality you showed me I might as well buy you a drink, or something.” I shrugged, pulling back a chair beside me at the bar. The shorter guy eyed it suspiciously before climbing up onto the chair. 

“If you’re paying, gimme some of that whiskey ya’ got Egbert!!!”

And as the guy with glasses fumbled once again to quickly get the order to his client, I was preparing for one of the best conversations of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, I use to get pissy when writers would go off about their personal lives in their fan fictions, but I just wanted to say something considering I haven't made any notes at all so far. However, I think this chapter might be the shittiest one yet? but then again this is only three chapters in. Theres still much more shitty writing to be done. That is if I actually finish this.


	4. Be gay, solve crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally sit down and have a conversation.

Today I have come to the conclusion that anything that happens in this god forsaken saloon is a personal attack from fate trying to make my life as short and miserable as humanly possible. The complete bastard who is sitting to my left is a clear example that there is some some from of unknown higher power that is rooting against me. It looked at me, a small pathetic spaz wagon that’s lost control and is careening off a fucking cliff into a river of work and responsibility. 

This literal god looked down at me ripping my hair out of my fucking scull in my own anxiety crock pot, boiling in the water with the the robberies and the already shitty workload. While I foam out the mouth like a fucking mad dog while in my self made stress coma, the sadistic fuck just sits there and laughs, before sliding something my way. That “thing” was Dave Strider. Who, as of two days ago, has been the bane of my existence. He has only wears me down more now that he’s actually cognitive. 

Now that I think about it, why the fuck is he even here? How the fuck is he even here? How is he not clumped over the table in pain right now? How the literal shit is he able to waltz around in his cowboy hat and shades and seem to be completely uninfected by the literal fucking gunshot wounds that dug deep into his scratched up chest. He had been shot several times and the wounds couldn’t have healed yet. I mean I know Kanaya’s a great doctor, but she isn’t that good. This was literally impossible. 

“Hey!!! You nut guzzling shit head!! What the fuck are you doing here? Did ya’ really fancy a drink so bad you hopped onto your shitty horse and went all the way here? Even though I am close to damn certain Kanaya would have supplied you with some form of food and or water if you needed it. You do know you have been shot right? Like with a motherfucking gun?? Not just one time, but two times. Has Kanaya forgotten to notify you about the bullets that I had to watch get extracted from your body on the kitchen table of my best friend while she used nothing more than alcohol and and a dull knife? You got shot twice, yet you’re walking around and pretending nothing even happened. Like a total fucking idiot. A fucking obtuse moron.”  
“I mean what you’re going right now it outrageously imbecilic, but I have to give you the smidgen of credit credit where credit is due for not walking the entire way here. I saw your horse outside tied to a lamp post, so at least you had the fucking common seance to do that. If you didn’t I truly believe that there would be no hope for you. That something as fucking brain dead would literally be on the ground seizing, flopping around like a fish out of water. You would have just simply died by now. There is no other way around it.” 

By the end of my loud and passionate rantings I was admittedly out of breath. Huffing and puffing to catch my breath before really watching strider. He, of course wore a shit eating grin ear to ear, so insincere that it might be arrested for tax fraud and or identity theft. He leaned forward in my direction before speaking.

“Awe, you’re worried about me? That's just adorable ain’t it. If I were a ninety year old relative of yours I would be pinching the fuck out of your chubby lil cheeks offering you a butterscotch's while kissing your fucking forehead. You would be all like “no granny! No!!” and I would be like ‘no one escapes kissies from grandma.’ and promptly chase you around the darkened living room with my walker until you give up, or I die from fatigue.”

He made a quiet ‘muah’ sound, before retracting his head into his own personal space while I simultaneously freaked out and got pisssed at him. “I asked you a fucking question Strider, and you better fucking answer the fucking questions or I’ll bite your fucking leg off.” 

He chucked under his breath as he put his hands up loosely in foe surrender. “Okay, okay, ya got me. I will explain everything you just asked and nothing more. Buckle your fucking seatbelts cause we’re going to get this show on the road, prepare for fucking take off, cause I’m about to tell you all about it”

“So I never stay anywhere long. A small town like this one can only take the fame of housing someone like me for so long before everyone within it unanimously loses their shit. So, knowing this, when I woke up, I was about to take my leave before your friend Kanaya came in and was like ‘hey, you need to check up on my boy Karkat, he’ll be totally pissed if you just leave out of the blue for no reason.’ So I wandered over here cause all people end up at the saloon at some point in the day, so I thought I’d sit here and wait you out. And luckily I only had to be in here for little under fifteen minutes for you to show up.”

He paused for a second, before looking back at me. “And I’m fine by the way. This isn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve got this shit in the fucking bag. I’m not a weak ass bitch baby, I can take a fucking hit. It’s not like something I’ve never dealt with before. It’s not like I can’t sew my own stitches. It’s just because I didn’t bring anything to eat or drink while parading through satan’s sweaty asscrack. It was more then my puny twunky ass could handle.-”

I zoned out for hell knows how long, maybe five minutes or so. Forgetting to pay any mind to what he was saying I just watched him talk. The smile that once adorned his face had been scrubbed away and he now spoke with few to little expression once again. 

God fucking damn this douche bag can not shit the fuck up can he?

It seems that talking may be the only thing he can actually do. Listening to him speak is like being pelted with bullshit pop culture references that don’t even exist yet, like being beat to death with a skip-it and a bop-it simultaneously. It’s so fucking outlandish and stupid, and literally fucking nonsensical, but it’s happening and it’s happening fast, a constant stream of violence to my ears. 

This is literally an assault. This is assault. I should fucking arrest this guy right here and now. He is just so full of himself. Never showing anything sounding like genuine emotion, a just fake joke of what emotions should sound like in someone’s voice. Everything is said as a joke, half joke, half genuine. It would have been hard to read him like that alone, but no, he had to slap those bullshit ocular shields onto his eyes making it almost impossible to read his expression on top of that. It was like he himself was a bullshit illusion of douchebagery. Like a personality scam. It was and remains to be one of the most infuriating thing I have ever had the misfortune to come across in my life. I know literally nothing about him other then his name, even though he literally has not shut the hell up since I sat down  
“-like it was your divine duty destined to you by god himself, tucking bitches in left and right with the tender hand of a loving mother. Then slapping a wet one on their forehead as they pass out simply because of how god damn safe it and tenderness of the moment. There has yet to be such a loving figure to appear yet in the entirety of their sad and pathetic lives. Never knowing the warmth of warm food served with care for you and only you, living a life grown up on cold broth and moldy fucking saltines, but they just are saved by the light that is your fucking kindness. Literally motherfucking saintlike-”

“What the fuck are you even trying to tell me right now? You are so lost in this extended metaphor I’m starting to think you might actually be praising me as a literal saint. And let me fucking assure you, I’m not anything even comparable to something like that.” 

From behind the counter, John slid a drink across the counter in my direction, coming to a stop when it reached me like he had some hidden bullshit conveyor belt that is pointed in my direction. But that does not mean I missed how Strider seemed to freeze for a second. Like a deer in headlights, only the incoming car that was shining his lights onto him disappeared into a cloud of smoke as quickly as it arrived. It was like the moment never even happened. A small fault in his front, I had called him out directly. A knife through the cloud of bullshit he seemed to constantly float on. A direct and fatal hit. But he doesn’t let it show for more then a second, if I blinked I would have missed the fucking rarity of a faulter of composure from Strider.

He sat there for a second, like he was a computer rebooting after a major fuck up, his expression was completely blank even though the cogs in his head were visibly whirring in response in a futile attempt of playing catch-up. Then he chuckled, shook his head and finished off his drink.

“I’m sorry if you simply lack the expertise needed to unravel the levels of irony I pride myself living by. After all, this amount of pure rich irony would need to be carefully dissected by a group of experts who have dedicated their entire fucking loves to understanding the art that is irony. You are unnaquainted with the study and it’s painfully obvious to a newbie like yourself, but I’ll put it in simple words you surely will be able to understand“ 

God fucking dammit, just listening to this insufferable asscrack-Sunday makes the headache I didn’t realize I even fucking had ring louder then the fucking catastrophe siren. His sheer existence is making it hella tempting to get fucking blitzed for once in my life. Just to get it to shut the fuck up. So I can actually have a second to relax or something. So I grabbed the whiskey Strider had payed for and downed it in one go. I even did that over dramatic show off stunt where someone tilts their head back and drinks it from over their head, before slamming the cup onto the table like a totally self righteous bastard. 

God, I forgot how much I fucking hate drinking this shit. It’s literally compatible to guzzling a goblin’s acidic piss as it burns a hole in your fucking mouth and throat. It’s simply the most fucking revolting thing known to man, woman, child, dog, anything. Worst thing known to all life forms to ever exist. The person who made this should be paying for a hate crime for making it taste so fucking bad. 

But I shook it off, literally shaking my head before I turned back to Stider with the most abhorrent glare I can physically muster. 

“Get to the fucking point you foolish ignorant pitiful shit head. I don’t have all fucking day to listen to you say whatever bullshit appears in your astonishingly underdeveloped peanut brain. Unlike your putrid ass, I actually have a job, and a fucking responsibility I’ve fucking committed myself to here. I know! Fucking baffling! Mind fucking boggling!! Brain splitting confusing, ain’t it Strider? ME. Having something else to do other then listening to your FUCKING UNGRATEFUL ASS fucking spew out nonsensical BULLSHIT.” 

He stared at me, seemingly deadpan. His fucking bullshit insecurity hiding eye-were was doing their fucking job magnificently.

“I was going, uh.. Gonna say thank you, but now that you're being a screamy piss baby about it, I don't really feel like giving you that respect.” He shrugged with a sly shit eating grin. Like he just thought he was better then me or something. It was the face of a bastard who fucking deserved to get his teeth kicked in. Deserves to get his teeth kicked in by all star athlete and gifted soccer player David Fucking Beckham. 

¨But I need to pay my respects to the guy who may or may not have gone and graciously saved my fucking life like a guardian angel swooping me up in its tender arms and lifting me to safety. You really didn't need to do that. There was no fucking reason for you to do that. I have close to no money, no high status you can wax off of, I obviously was not in physical shape to go off and use my sick ass ninja skills on someone for you, and considering your opinion of me as of the moment you don't know anything about me. So there was nothing to tempt you into rescuing me on your fucking white horse like the chivalrous bastard you are deep deep deep deep down.¨

¨I'm in your debt, truly and honestly. I need to repay you for literally saving my fucking life. Its the right thing to do right? That's what a good guy would do after something like this. An eye for an eye. So tell me O’ noble Karkat, is there anything I can assist you with to make things even? Like literally anything. I mean anything. If you want to exploit this in any really fucked up way, go straight ahead. All green lights over here. Sure, Ill resent you for it, because fucked up is still fucked up. But I seriously would be nothing more than a dead rotting corpse attracting flies right outside of this here fine ass establishment. I would have fallen off The Mayor and fucking died. I would be dead.¨

What the fuck is this? Is this tool, this absolute dud with a brain of an orangutan, is being actually fucking genuine? This isn't even sarcasm this time I just deadass can not tell. The implications of his words are laced with potent sincerity, but he shoves his bullshit metaphors in there paired with the snarky way he speaks, making every fucking word out of his mouth sound like mockery and a joke. But the way he looks tense, like hes discreetly trying to fold in on himself to make himself half the size carried the point that he is actually trying to speak from the heart here.

Then he peers over at me humorously with a shit eating grin splitting across his freckled and scarred up face, like the motherfucking Cheshire cat ¨So whatever you want done I shall do. I am technically guns for hire after all.¨

I take it back, he's still a magnum shithead. The greasy filthy motherfucker.

I laughed at him, sent his as a hearty fucking guffaw, sent to him with a free knife in the side for good measure. No, i did not actually stab this wondering, city-skipping dumbass, it was more wishful thinking. 

¨Okay, okay then, I hear ya´.” I puffed, I didn't believe him. I still don't believe him, but the whiskey was starting to hit making the room seemed warmer and my fingers were starting to feel tingly. ¨I hear your wager and Ill raise you one. I know for a fact that you are shitting me. I know that I am currently being played so fucking hard I actually have to squint really fucking hard to see the truth of your words through your infinite fog of self inflating bullshit, and I know you're just taking this as a joke. You don't actually want to help me, you're just using this as a pathetic source of entertainment, and you've not actually going to commit to this. So were playing poker and I´m calling your fucking bluff. Your saying your hand is trash but in reality I have nothing more then jokers and twos, and you don't even use jokers in poker!!! That's how much bullshitery is occurring in the current moment!!!!¨

This motherfucker just laughs, like me speaking is the funniest shit he had ever seen, in his own ‘ironic’ way, muted and dry. Was this mother fucker actually smiling right now? Is he finding me that fun to watch? Such an inspiring spectacle as I shit myself before smearing it all over my body then setting myself on fire. 

“Okay then grumpy, hit me with it. Watch, I’m a man of my word.” He grinned. This literal fucking bastard. 

I scoffed at him in disbelief “Since you seem so confident in your abilities to do literally anything, how about you solve the case I’ve been assigned to. Serial robbers. Should be simple right? I mean, if it’s too much that’s fine-“

“Nah, Nah, I gotcha bro. I’ll say for as long as I can and help the ever living shit out of you. I’ll be the ninja cowboy Sherlock Holmes. You know me. There for your beck and fuckin call. Detective Dave. Solving mysteries and shit. Hey, let’s start right now. Don’t you go and drink any more, you and I have a fuckin culprit to catch.”

Wait- what?

“Wait- what??” I sputtered like an engine struggling to start. “Right now? You mean right this very moment? You’re fucking joking right? Pulling my leg clean off in a brain dead attempt to cripple me. You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Nah Karks, I’m completely serious. One hundred percent. Give me all of your evidence, all the witness testimonies, all the physical descriptions of the suspects and we’ll be good to go. Just you and me buddy, for the long run. We’re like the Bonnie and Clyde but instead of committing the crime we’re solving the crime… and instead of being a couple, we’re just.. Best bros.. Cause no homo. You know what I mean?”

I sighed, nodding my head slowly and solemnly. I signed up for this, whatever this may be. “Yeah, unfortunately, I think I know what you mean.” I then jumped off the bar stool as he looked over to me with slight surprise. “Find me at the sheriff’s office and i’ll show you the evidence and debrief you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE NEXT CHAPTER IS JUST A EXPOSITION DUMP AND I HAVE NO CLUE WHO THE FUCK I'M GOING TO WRITE IT AS AND/OR IN WHAT POV, BUT KEEP YOUR EYES AND EARS AND INTERNAL ORGANS.


	5. Two bros, sitting at the Sheriffs office. Five feet apart cause they're not gay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some filler, aka me procrastinating writing some boring ass exposition. So instead, take these dumbasses. And Dave's #nohomo rap. Sick shit ahead, the hot shit train is in the station, carrying mounds of steamy creamy turds. Those turds are this chapter.

It’s almost nine thirty, a good after my first run in with fucking destiny. Destiny is a great guy. I might have spat on his name no less than three days ago when I was busy slowly dying to death while being privately escorted by my vip pony to the fucking gates of the afterlife of unspecific religion. But today was fucking monumental in the way that I have enjoyed myself more this whole summer, maybe even longer then that.

I have gotten so fucking acquainted to constantly running, constantly fighting something, constantly trying to save my ass. It’s a nice change of pace. Just sitting in a bar for a few hours heckling the shit out of a short grumpy man, round up so fucking tight, I swear to god every time he is on the verge of blowing up into a billowing flaming pile of smoke and agression. It’s nice to actually hear someone’s honest opinion of everything, with no lies, no bullshit, just passion so strong and raw it constantly rests at a boil, threatening to bubble over and your fucking hands. Jesus Christ the guy is hysterical. 

So here I stand right outside the sheriff’s office. The sun has already set, leaving the stars and the moon to hang up in the sky and and talk for a bit about the happenings in their life. Probably about the the wife and the kids, how Johnny is going to college now, and Penny is working as a secretary for a wealthy business man nobody actually gives a fuck about. 

I’ve got my hands stuffed deep into my pockets as I shift foot to foot anxiously kicking at the dirt with my pointy-toed cowboy boots. But not too anxiously, knowing me it’s the cool kind of anxious (those exist) like the jitters someone gets before performing their new song on the fly in front of millions of people, turns out that song went to the charts before the end of the week. Now they put that motherfucker’s face on billboards, and ladies scream his name while clamoring to see him on stage like rabid fucking dogs fighting for dominance in the litter. That’s me, at the top. The alpha dog. No matter what bullshit articles and scientists and relatives of mine may or may not have told you. Those motherfuckers just want what I have. 

Speaking of performing, sometimes I do this thing where I rhyme rapidly. It hasn’t been given a real name or became popular yet, mostly because it’s still the olden’ times, However in the future, it’s this thing called rap, and it would get me all the ladies for these sick ass bars I’m laying down right now. Sounding more sick then the mythic figures, two-pac and Eminem, and their bio engineered freakazoid rap monolith of a child. They would be so fuckin jelly of the fires I’m spitting. You wanna hear? Guess what, you’re hearing it anyway.

I suck in a deep breath, letting the words and thoughts drip out of my mouth in a syncopated rhythm as I throw my arms around with the beat enthusiastically.

“Shit it's getting hot ya better turn down the thermostat  
Cause’ Strider’s doing sick flips like a literary acrobat  
Waiting to see this dude who’s named Karkat, and chit chat  
He’ll just storm over here like a pissed off wombat,  
like some dude who don’t exist yet named Chris Pratt.  
During the first round of his rough verbal combat  
While i was dodging his threats bout’ killing me with a ball bat  
I agreed on a bet to get close to this loud mouth diplomat,  
Wait- shit that sounded gay, just forget that I said that?”

“Anyway I’m sitting here waiting, standing on the street.  
But I’d rather be inside with this guy sitting on the love seat  
Sitting there and fucking with his mind all undescreate,  
My head feels like spinnin and i can feel my heartbeat  
Just me and his rage making my stunted heart reheat  
This hot then cold is so nice but bittersweet  
Cause no one has actually cared about my sad meat suit.

I mean that in a straight way  
Im not gay,   
I know I’ve mentioned that before but i gotta say  
I am not into dudes, I don't swing that way  
And I will be drowning in poontang until i slowly decay.  
After dying in battle in the mists of the fray  
I know that it’s coming, it's gonna happen one day  
I’ll fail to wake up, get stabbed, my mind fades.  
I know my life is temporary, I'm not going to stay.  
So I’ll let you know im no homo nor any shade of gray.

And even if i was i swear i wouldn’t do jack shit about it  
It’s not like i am addicted to dick, cause im not about to die without it.  
I have picked not to lick the pickled prick all that stands around it  
And honestly? I think that's a pretty grounded diagnostic.  
I haven’t taken apart my heart so I can’t hear my heart tick,  
If i did i bet it would be colder then the arctic.  
Colder the my life was back in that dark haunted apartment.   
Played with gunshots not hopscotch in this life of torment.  
He’s waiting before me and I can’t ignore it.  
So I keep fucking running frantically before it-“

“Bro.”

“Who the fuck are you mumbling to?” The raspy voice spat as it treated closer. The voice of a total fucking mad man, and I mean that in the best fucking way possible.

“Oooooh, Howdy there piss-boy.” I said, flashing that signature strider smile and tipping my super dope cowboy hat in his direction. He spat out a quiet ‘don’t call me that.’, which I brusquely chose to ignore. “It was nothing’ really, I’m just talking to myself.” I shrugged casually in response, shifting left to right anxiously, still fist deep in my pockets.

He scoffed mockingly, throwing his head back with glee. “Seriously? Are you alright in the fucking head? Just sitting here talking to no one? Shit, now I’m really fucking regretting my decision. So not only are you an annoying self-absorbed shit with no idea what a normal conversation is, but you also have deep talks with the voices of your head? Are you having a nice conversation over here? Probably went ‘something something Irony something something dope bla bla bla nohomo yadda yadda, read my webcomic and or listen to my soundcloud.’ Those things literally don’t even exist right now!!! If this wasn’t a shitty half-baked narrative, you would be making absolutely no sense right now, but luckily we are all given this basic understanding of future pop culture.”

I literally can’t help but laugh at this guy’s pathetic display of anger and rage as he stumbles over with a metal keychain clinking around on his fingers, which barely poked out of his sweater sleeves like he’s just a child making his big reveal of his sick new garb, while playing dress up in their parents' clothes. Not that I’ve ever done that, but I’ve heard that is a thing that happens. Walkin around the house in shoes seven sizes too big and a shirt that the kid literally tips over while running on the fucking hardwood flooring. The enormous clown shoes making loud ass “THOMP THOMP THOMP” noises as the kid waddles wrong with a totally adorable looking smile on their round lil’ baby cheeks.

“Sorry Karkles, I was just practicing for future conversations with the Guinness world record holder for the most pissed off human being on the face of the earth. A large laminate copy of your face is printed sleekly amongst the pages, depicting you, red from ear to ear, seething with curses frantically strung together with the pazazz of a motherfucking Broadway showman.” I said chipperly.

He mutters something under his breath, but to me it sounded more like a feral growl of a small cat-sized animal that is ready to bite a hole out of the next hand that tries to touch him. Not that I'd even want to try to make any physical contact with the little grease ball. The spectacle is perfectly good from afar. So of course, he’s riled up, so why not tango with the beast right?

“Hey, you know I couldn’t hear you right? If you want me to hear what you’re saying you oughta speak up a little. Maybe some better diction would help you a bit, or looking in the direction of the person you’re trying to talk to? I think I made out half of what you were saying though. Something like ‘Wow, this dave guy is just swell ain’t he? What a great agreeable guy?” 

He turns his attention from searching his key ring for the correct key, struggling to fit it into the keyhole, looking over to my face with the most revolted and scandalized expression I have ever seen. It was as if I had disturbed silent reading time, and desturbed it in the most disrespectful way, like I ripped ass like I was fucking Louis Armstrong blastin away at the fucking trumpet. It wasn’t just a sort and squeaky tooter, it was a rumble of Armageddon, the one that has both the smell noise of someone who had just browned their pants. 

“I can’t genuinely can’t fucking believe you right now”

_______

I genuinely can’t believe this guy right now. 

While talking, I had turned to find the key to unlock the door, giggling it around to try to get into my office as quickly as possible and finishing this transaction as effortlessly and painlessly as possible, but knowing this bastard, nothing involve him will ever be without burning my fucking insides with his completely toxic acidic bullshit. No, he has to waltz around like an entitled bastard without any fucking awareness for himself or the others around him. Everything is just some convoluted joke, including me and him and anything else. Including this case. And that was why he was here, right? For the payoff of this sick little punchline. Everything to him is a punchline and it’s just cruel. It made my blood boil. He made my blood boil.

“I’m sorry Karmine, I don’t make the rules. I can tell that you just adore my mystery shrouded ass. You just are hypnotized by my dark and mystifying debonaire, just like many people have before you. City from city. That's just what happens right? Of course-” 

“OH MY GOD SHIT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING BRAINLESS HUSK. LET ME OPEN THIS GOD DAMN FUCKING DOOR AND LET ME SIT THE FUCK DOWN BFORE BERATING ME AND MUTILATING MY EARDRUMS WITH THE SOUND OF YOU PUBLICLY STOKING YOUR EGO. DEAR SWEET FUCKING GOD.” I screamed, unlocking and basically kicking the fucking door open with the spite of one thousand suns. He looked no less excited and enthusiastic at me being pissed off at him, which was just even more enthusiastic, snickering under his breath with a rosy tint on his freckled cheeks.

“Okay, shit god damn. Don’t think I've been on the tip of my fucking toes waiting for you to show up and let me in. My feet are old and calloused and I am hungry and sad. I have been just sitting here waiting for a while so I’ve had a while to think and so I guess it might just be spewing every random thought that has crossed my mind for the past few hours,” Strider chuckled humorlessly, bowing his head down slightly as he walked through the open door. 

Now hold on. “Wait- how long have you been waiting here?” I asked sharply, turning sharply on my heel with a cautious and accusatory eye. 

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh… I dunno dude, about three hours?” he shrugged casually, as he just closed the door acting like that statement held no real impact. I just stood there frozen, witnessing him in his form of pure fucking dumbassery, acting like sitting on the curb waiting for my stupid ass was no big idea. But it’s three fucking hours. Not just one, but three of them shits. That the fuck is this man on? What kind of shitty psychedelics is he on that allows him to think that's not a big fucking deal? God damn, I wish I could bet some of that, whatever it is. Just finally able to not give a fuck. What a fucking blessing. But this guy isn’t high. He is way too lucid to be high. 

“Three fucking hours? You just stood there for three hours?? What are you? Some sort of brainless dog faithfully awaiting his owner, who had already fucking died? A pitiful sad fucking dog that just sits and waits for something that isn’t fucking coming. A total dumb fuck.” I spat, closing the door behind me. “Have you ever eaten anything since you were in the goddamn saloon? Fuck dammit you irresponsible shit stick. You’re just going to let yourself die after Kanaya and I worked so fucking hard to save your ass? You ungrateful retard. Follow me. And please, I swear to god, please shut the fuck up.”

Strider shrugged nonchalantly, his shoulders dropping loosely and relaxed. At this I rolled my eyes and continued being rightfully pissed as I marched through the sheriff's office, and up towards the stairs to access my own. 

“It really isn’t that bad Karkatoo, this honestly is nothing compared to the shit i’ve gone through. My body is an impenetrable temple, each fucking brick made of the strongest materials known to all life forms, so that includes any fuckin aliens on the other side of the galaxy ten bajillion times more advanced then us. So this structure of absolute impenetrability is like, even stronger than the shit they have discovered yet. I don’t need food, or rest. Time is constantly moving forward, and I’m moving with it, and I know I’ll be where I need to be when the time comes. So I’m totally fine, no reason to worry, literally zero reasons for worry on your behalf.” 

Isn’t a big deal? Isn’t a big deal? This literal fucking dip shit. This obtuse moron. This flaccid ucus brained bitch brain. It was so fucking inconvenient. If that we me, I’d be spitting fire from every orifice, vowing to decimate his entire fucking bloodline. But he’s just going to stand there with that goofy straight face and tell me he is completely unphased by it? 

With the rage of an angry bull, I ripped open the door to my office and left it open for him, then slamming it closed the second he stepped foot inside.

“Sit the fuck down strider.” I huffed, sliding a wooden chair in his direction from out of the corner of the room. “Take this, it hasn’t been used much, since no one ever comes here to check up on how lil ol’ Karkat’s doing. Cause that shit doesn’t matter, just as long as that short ass motherfucker has got eeeeverything under control. No one should even have to sweat over this shit. Doesn’t fucking matter.” I rambled, my volume slowly decreasing with the amount of venom in each word staying the same.   
“Listen, It’s not the best but it’s something.” I huffed, trailing back towards my desk and pulling out the healthy stack of shitty boring cream colored files that were yellowing to turn a much uglier color, stuffed messily with papers detailing each robbery. 

“But seriously. Sit the fuck down. We’ve got work to do.” 

For a second he looked back and forth around the room as if scanning like some sort of feral beast was going to jump out of the fucking filing cabinet and take a fat ass bite out of his head. Or maybe like he was looking around for someone else I was talking to, like he wasn’t sure if I was really telling him in particular to sit down on the other side of my best. Either way, he seemed to understand and follow quickly and with surprising efficiency. 

“So, before we start can I get to know you better at all?” He asked, scooting closer and propping his head and hands up on the desk attentively. 

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” I asked almost as soon as he finished asking his question. He wasn’t being serious. This guys whole thing is being insincere and fake, surely this seemingly genuine curiosity is just as fucking fake as the god damn moon landing, or birds.

“What? No? Why the hell would I do that?” He paused, sporting what I could deduct was confusion? I can’t even fucking tell with this jackass, god damn shades just enableing this cagey douchebag to be a cagey douchebag. “I just thought since I guess we’re going to be working together on this case for a while, we should probably get to know each other? But I guess we can always do that later, if you want to just focus on the case. I mean we are going to be around each other a lot so it might just happen anyway without pushin’ it?” 

I sat there for a second, just blown away by the fact that he would either be genuinely interested with getting to know me, and as well as the commitment he has to this joke. I have seen people less dedicated to their fucking family then this. He’s going all in, all his coins are in the center. But it’s like he’s playing poker, while I’m stuck playing Uno. He doesn’t have the same rules to the game so he’s just running circles around me like the annoying jack ass he is. But he has a point. If we want to solve this case together I have to be able to trust this guy.

“Haha, funny.” I spat, ruffling though the multiple stacks of files I had tossed more haphazardly then a fuckin shitty salad made out of paper, the kind that would give you paper cuts when one attempts to eat it.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but one day I’m going to crack you open and the truth will spill out like a fucking monsoone. But until then I guess you are right. Getting to know each other would prove to be beneficial. Like a first test? To see if I really can trust you.

Strider tilted his chair back in casual aloofness, resting in a pose that made it ever so fucking tempting to push the chair over and knock the shady cagey shitbag onto his ass. ̈¨Okay then, I'll go first then shouty.¨ He had this sly grin on his face making him look twice as punchable then it was a second ago. ¨Why do you have this job? Did you always want to be enforcing the law? Eating ass and taking names?¨

Huh, honestly I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't a genuine question, so I fumbled to collect my thoughts in an order that would make sense. ̈ ̈So, my dad was the sheriff when I was younger. Then he died and it was me for a while, I basically lost my shit trying to keep everyone in this shitty town from ripping out each others throats like total fucking savages, all over resources and food. It was honestly pathetic for a while. But shit all got better when we locked up Makara. He's is still in the slammer downstairs.’’ I paused, then leaned in slightly ¨if you hear yelling it's him,¨ I leaned back again. ¨but he's more dead than alive at this point. I honestly sometimes debate just taking him somewhere no one knows of and just taking him out of his misery… Anyway, I stepped down after everything settled down, and Vriska stepped up to be sheriff. She's in charge of crime and punishment, my job is keeping everyone happy and not dead.¨

I paused for a second, feeling my brow knit together. ¨I don't think that properly answered your question did I? Shit, the reason I do still do this is because I feel like it's my duty to. No one else is going to do it, and if no one does the shaky foundation this town is built on will break apart pitifully. Itll crumble and fall and crush everyone who is in it till we're nothing more than a bunch of small red stains on dirt and concrete ̈

There was a moment of silence and understanding that passed through us, like Strider was actually trying to take a second to process what I had just said. But fuck that, its my turn to ask this insufferable bastard a question. 

̈ ̈Riddle me this you ́mysterious ́ motherfucker, why did you come here? Did you know that this town exists before you arrived here?¨ 

Strider's compilation seemed to pale, the rosey color draining out of his skin like someone had just turned on a tap connected to his veins and let his blood make a current out of his body. He was afraid of answering, and the way he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly like a brain dead fish was almost like he was having difficulty picking his words. Which is just untrue, considering the near constant onslaught of useless ramblings that constantly spew from him like he is unable to fucking control it.   
¨I don't think I can tell you everything. I don't want you to think less of me. But Im… Im running from my past, and that shit is nipping at my heels. It wants fucking blood. It wants to tear me to pieces and use each piece for its own fucked up purposes… I would tell you if I thought it was something… It's still there, and it's something I have to face alone. ¨ For once his voice was deep and serious, almost sounding hollow. Like someone who had been slowly worn away but wear and tear over a time period way too long. This was sincere. I was and still am certain of this. This guy was being dead serious, no irony or elongated metaphors to distort it. This was the honest truth.

Something was very wrong here.

But then, like a single dark cloud had passed over him, Strider quickly rebounds to his normal snarky fake ass ̈cool guy ̈ routine, ̈But you don't have to worry about any of that captain, you have enough on your plate as it is right? That's what you've been saying at least. So unless you were lying about all of that, just keep moving. Nothing even happened here aight?¨ He asked, leaning forward and letting the front two feet of his chair slam onto the ground. 

̈ ̈But enough about all that, the past is depressing, the future is depressing. Lets focus on now. We've got a case to solve dont we? Come on then deputy, give me the hard facts, and just an idea, but if you have any tacks you could post all these papers up on the wall and make it more organized or something. Like one of those paper and string webs those stereotypical manic conspiracy theory nut jobs have posted in their basement. The news papers with the motherfuckers notes in the margin, pictures of famous people circled with red marker. You know, that could be us, but you're playin ̈

I sighed, nodding in agreement. No matter how much incoherent bullshit this moron my spout, he is giving a good argument here. So I silently pilled out my small box of thumbtacks from out of my desk, collecting my papers and began to explain the case. 

¨Listen here and listen good, cause Im only going to say this once to your dumb ass¨


	6. This might be where one would say "here's the tea sis", and then promptly "sksksksk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat rants and debriefs Dave on the case and how he hates his job and the people in it.
> 
> #daveisilliterate #illiteratepride

Karkat Vantas and Dave Strider sat in the deserted sheriff’s office. Karkat, standing a good head shorter than the other, slammed an open palm onto the wall behind him, pinning a paper to the corkboard he had hung up. His face was stern and sure, with a gentle undertone of ‘ready to kick the shit out of everyone in a five mile radius’. An expression Dave seemed to find especially entertaining. 

“Okay! Listen here dumbfuck.” Karkat began, removing his hand from the board and pointing to picture he had revealed of a nearby shop, owned by one of the town's residents.

“On June 17th Kanaya Maryam’s tailoring shop was ransacked, all of the money and various articles of clothing were stolen in broad daylight. Well, it was like, eight a-clock. Only fifteen minutes at most after Kanaya closes up shop every night.” 

Dave made an off comment, something like “Shit, Kanaya is a tailor as well? God damn! You guys would be dead where you stand without her gracing this place. Fucking mystic jack of all trades over here.” Karkat ignored the entire spiel, only acknowledging him via a curt “yeah, I know.” Before going off about the case once again, still laser focused at the task at hand. It might have sounded like he didn’t give a fuck, and that was because in that moment he didn’t give a fuck. 

“Okay, now shut the fuck up I’m talking. There was only one who saw any part of the heist whatsoever, because apparently this motherfucker has to be the slipperiest shit on the face of the goddamn earth. Feferi did manage to see the burglar as they booked it from the scene, even though she contributed almost jack shit to this case. She didn’t even trying to stop the suspicious looking motherfucker with a huge ass bag over their shoulder and a weapon in their hand.” Karkat spat, seething with annoyance. The shorter fella had a tendency to talk using very dramatic hand gestures, which kept Dave easily engaged with the conversation even without speaking, but just by watching him perform every time he opens his mouth.

But he paused to post a small back and white picture of a round faced girl with huge voluminous hair who smiled widely at the camera, as well as a small piece of yellow paper just ripped out of a small notebook he had stowed away into his back pocket. To Dave, the handwriting was no more than angry scribbles scrawled quickly and without thought. Both because Karkat’s handwriting was genuinely horrendous, and because Dave barely knows how to read. 

“I don’t know if it has any importance, but background for her is that she found this town in a strike of dumb luck, after running away from her responsibilities like a tas the heiress of the slowly growing “Betty Crocker” cooperation with her younger sister, like a kid does when they want to through caution to the wind. Only to return home less than half an hour later because they got tired and hungry.” He paused for a second. “They had success spoonfed to them, and even then they were still unhappy and dissatisfied enough that they ran away. Personally, I would have taken it. It beats living in this shit hole with this terrible fucking job.” 

Karkat shook his head as if trying to shake off the thought, making his wild mane of hair shake and get even messier. It was like some national geographic, cute ass baby animal sorta maneuver, or so Dave thought. He opened his mouth to make some dumb ass comment. Probably to ask Karkat if he routinely rubs balloons on his head to get his hair to stick up like that. Or maybe it wasn’t a fashion choice at all? And was just more because of the flow of energy through his body making his hair stand up. But Dave held his tongue for the time being and let Karkat continue his tirade. 

“They both have decent amounts of money, most of which the younger sister stole from their mother. They could be considered suspects... Hell, anyone in this town could be. But I have a feeling that it wasn’t Feferi. Meenah, I can’t say for sure, Her reputation really isn’t helping her out here. So she could be a possible suspect…” He muttered, pulling out a paper and scribbling the word “Meenah”. Dave couldn’t read it. 

“Anyway back to the case and evidence! Feferi said the thief wore a mask over their eyes, and hid his hair under a large black cowboy hat, which narrows it down to just about every single person in this town. And then the dumb broad couldn’t even point out any prominent facial features other then the fact that they had a “long oval shaped face”. Thanks for this valuable information!!” He shouted, raising his arms up in annoyance.

Other then that useless pile of putrid horse feces, Feferi said the culprit had…” Karkat paused, to flip through a small hand sized notepad of yellow paper, with a tensely focused scowl drawn onto his face, and Dave watched him like he was a moving renaissance painting, but in a totally straight way tho. “...A ‘thin and slender build,’ as well as being ‘not exactly that tall, but still much taller than myself. I’d put him around 5’7” to 5’10”’. They were wearing a ‘dark grey poncho with black designs sewn into it, boots,” and a ‘shirt with poofy sleeves’ like some kind of even bigger douchebag than yourself. The culprit was armed, as I’ve already mentioned, armed having what Peixes described as ‘some kind of bladed object’. Which is great! Fucking fantastic! Look at this giant steamy pile of jack fucking squat!!”

Dave sputtered at that, which turned more towards him chuckling under his breath. “Calm your ass down for a second okay Kar-Candy. There is probably more eye witness accounts that have just as much, maybe even more information then this one. Right?” This made Karkat lose his shit even more epically, panic and annoyance swelling up into his chest and rest to squirm uncomfortably in his throat

“No!!! No there isn’t any more information for me accept for the clues left at the the crime scene and the fucking inconclusive bullshit the only other eye witness is fucking NEPETA’S CAT WANNA BE ASS, who gave me such conterdicting description that it nearly invalidates both of them!!!!” Karkat screeched, plowing his fingers through his hair and holding them there as the sheer impenetrable stress begins to bubble up and over. 

“Wait- hold on- it they described two totally different people then how the hell do you even know its the same person every time?” Dave interrupted, which pissed Karkat off momentarily until realizing how bullshit that is, considering they need to find the holes in these kind of things to figure out. 

“It’s ‘because of their MO, they always do the same thing every time. Pick the lock, get the money, even if it is in a safe it isn’t really safe. They have to have a crowbar or something… but they steal anything of value, and then leave a sarcastic letter mocking the victim of their crime. Usually something like these,” he said, handing Dave a small stack of papers which he just looked up at uselessly. 

“I think you should know, I can’t read or write anything other then my name and the words ‘help me’” Dave said, sliding the papers back to him. Karkat almost laugh at him, scratch that, he did laugh at him. He curled over on himself slightly, wiping his eyes before carefully regaining his composure. 

“You, cool kid, superfuck ‘I’m above literally everything to ever exist ever.’ The man who has called ME illiterate, ACTUALLY can’t read?!? That’s fucking hysterical!!! You love your ironic bullshit right? Well this is just the cream of the fucking crop. The pick of the god damn litter. You actually can’t- Shit-” He sputtered before bursting with loud gravely laughter, this motherfucker was the biggest tool ever to exist ever and the extent of the front he is trying to pull is one of the most hysterical things he had ever witnessed. 

Dave hadn’t seen him emote such genuine joy the entire day, and it was fucking magical. God damn, he had some flem or something in his throat cause he just started choking like the pathetic bastard he is.

“Okay, okay. I can’t read. You’ve got me. Now let's just pick it up with the case already. What’s up with this testimony? What’s the problem with it?” Dave said, physically having a hard time keeping his face neutral and unphased. 

“Anyway- what these notes say are basically twelve diffrent ways to say ‘fuck you, you pathetic looser, you’re not going to be seeing this shit again.’ Every single one has one, and they always have some sort of taunt to anyone actually trying to crack this case. Which happens so only be me!! Scrounging for clues or help from any of these incapable shitheads, but no. All I have to go off are two diffrent contradicting descriptions!!!” 

Dave huffed amusedly under his breath while Karkat dug through his papers like a savage rodent. Desperately searching for the food they had buried for the winter. Then he pulled out three more papers and ripped another page from out of his notebook. 

“How about we just lay down the facts about the second sighting of this guy. It could just be that they looked a certain way from a distance than up close. There are still things we can go off here.” Dave said, trying to actually calm the other, who was only a step away from ripping out chunks of hair from his scalp. Dave thought it was probably the wrong move to make, considering the guy seems to always be on the brink of biting someone’s hand off. And he was right, Karkat just scowled at him, deluded by the assumption it was a act of ‘ironic’ mockery, that he was being looked down at. But Dave was right, they were here so he can be debriefed, not so Karkat can vent his many frustrations with the case. No matter how much he may want to.

“Okay, you’re right. This time, this is going to be a one time thing Strider. Mark my words- and don’t go and look so god damn proud of yourself. I have not given you a golden sticker for outstanding work, you just weren’t wrong for once.” Karkat spat, as he began pegging the papers to the board.

“So, starting with case details. This was a full month and a half after the first sighting. At this point there had not been one robbery, not two of them shits, but seven. Seven of them. And by now there have been twelve and we’ve only seen the bastard twice!!! And-“ He paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep inhale to collect his composure. 

“Anyway, this particular case happened on the outskirts of town at Equius’s horse house, or whatever the fuck it’s technically called. The guy breeds horses, wants to fuck those horses, and is just genuinely creepy. This greedy ass motherfucker didn’t just steal all the money the guy had in there, but also snatched the award winning horse. The sweaty motherfucker always goes on about how ‘perfectly bred’ it is and how it has such ‘luscious locks’ and how he jacks off every day while grooming the damn thing. Personally, it was an okay horse. Hell, it was spectacular considering how fucking imbred he’s made all of them. It’s basically a miracle the damn things aren’t deformed and disabled.” He explained, posting black and white pictures of a stable, a sweaty long haired man, and a drawing of a horse. 

“The witness this time was Nepeta Leijon, age eighteen, She is a hostess at Egbert’s saloon and a close friend of Equis’s since we were young. She said that the thief was ‘on the shorter side,’ guessing the guy was around ‘5’4 and 5’7’, and was a more of a chunky hunky motherfucker then a twiggy taffy-pulled jackass. Or as Nepeta so eloquently put it “kinda meaty.” He said, posting a picture of a young looking girl with short hair and a smile. “What she described them wearing was basically a pseudo-columbine shooter, wearing a mask over their face, just like the other description, but they also had a black trench coat, a dark knit hat, a black and white striped shirt, black pants and slippers?? Apparently?? I mean I don’t know anyone who would wear all that shit together? Okay I might know one person, but they don’t count. They had a ‘long bladed weapon’ apparently, which REALLY slims up the pool of who the hell if could have been.” 

Karkat paused in order to take out a single sheet of paper, which had colorful crayons scribbled haphazardly all over it. It looked like something a fairly gifted child would have made and proudly displayed on the fridge. It had an illustration of the description Karkat had just described, with colorful landscape, flowers and a smiling sun in the corner. 

“You said she was eighteen?” Dave asked, his voice shaking with laughter he tried to suppress.  
“Yeah, I’m just as surprised as you are man.” Karkat shrugged, flipped quickly through his angrily scrawled notes, checking his facts over one last time. “Other then witnesses, the evidence of the crime scene would suggest that the culprit had both calculated these heists diligently, purposely picking out times when the store clerk and or house owner’s were not present, and when the premise surrounding it would be relatively empty, as well as finding and using back entrances into the buildings that would insure they would not be seen in the act, making sure they don’t move anything other then what they were stealing, closing everything after they were done there. You know, what a sneaky bastard would do.”

“But now the flames are getting turned up even higher, if it wasn’t already bad enough. The fact that this person is in fact violent and dangerous has been confirmed. The seal on this being the dead body of Tavros Nitram, age 20, who was found dead in his barbershop last week. Who, after the criminal had entered his store, had found a gun and actually tried to track down and stop the bastard, unlike literally everyone else in this useless cesspool of a town. He fired one round, which was found buried in a wall, which was ironically in the opposite direction the theif actually was, because he was brutally stabbed from behind. If he were to have lived, it would have been highly unlikely he would be able to walk ever again, considering his fucking spinal column had been severed. According to the bloodstains left by him, after getting stabbed he managed to turn himself over and attempt to crawl away, but he died due to bloodloss, since no one actually found his body till morning.” 

Karkat looked down wearily, he looked tired, guilty, afraid. He was all of those things all the time, but it has tripled itself as of recently due to the weight of someone’s dead body rests on his shoulders. 

“We were friends you know? Everyone around here grew up around one another. Since this is a small town, we rely on each other a lot… It’s just sucks… a lot. And his little brother Rufio is pissed, literally vowing death to the culprit… all that shit.. I really need to get this under the raps. And fast. This guy might have just found out how much they enjoy stabbing people while they’re vulnerable and alone. This could turn into from serial robbery to serial murder easily. I have to stop it. It’s my job. It’s my responsibility. I have to do this.”

There was a pause. A single moment of vulnerability. It was nothing to Karkat, just his emotions and feelings. He wore that shit on his sleeve, he saw no reason to fear it. But Dave? Vulnerability mental weakness. Vulnerability means telling people about himself and about his life, which means nothing good for his well being. To him, when there was vulnerability, it was usually followed by pain.

“hey, dude, listen… uh..” Dave started uneasily, the hesitation in his voice pulled Karkats attention back to the blonde dumbass sitting across from him, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “You know, were going to crack this case open wider than an egg, spreading them cheeks and dining on the new found fine cuisine. That cool ass penguin form the kid cuisine commercial is going to swing into this bitch and throw those shitty pudding sprinkles on it before we fuckin dive into this meaty meal. Put on your bib cause this shit is going to be the most delicious thing you've been able to bless your tastebuds with. I know those fuckers are craving salvation from this wasteland of garbage and disgusting culinary skills. But together, were going to get this bread. Were going to crack open this shit and then dine good infinitely, you know what i mean.”

Karkat had to take a second to register and recognized what the hell this shade wearing tool actually meant by all of that. But when the flash of realization appeared in his eyes, it confused him. This was all a joke right? Some long shitty joke that he was going to carry out until he got bored. But then why was he so nervous. It was like he was expecting something to come out of the shadows, jump him, and then leave him a purpled bloody mess with nothing but his regret and pain all over his fucking body. But maybe he was actually serious about this? Dave’s expression was set and tense, he seemed focused. This seemed genuine. And it really surprised Karkat. Why the hell would this stranger actually want to help him? It made no sense. This guy made no sense. He hated it.

Dave on the other hand, was panicking because this feral ball of anger and spite looked like he was literally on the brink of crying. His thoughts exactly in this moments were something like ‘Oh fuck- shit- hes crying. That wasn’t suppose to happen, he’s not suppose to be doing that right now- Oh fuck he’s crying. I’m not fucking equiped for this. My education didn’t fucking cover this. Scratch that, my education didn’t cover anything. I wasn’t allowed to go to fucking school. Oh shit. What the hell am I even supposed to do?”

“Anyways!!!!! What do you think about the case?” He blurted out, a little bit louder than usual. “Do you have any ideas as to who it is? Who could it be?” Strider asked, scooting his chair closer to Karkat’s desk and eating his arms on it, every movement has an air of practiced nonchalance. Like he goes home every day after school, gets a capri-sun out of the fridge, then practices resting his head on his arms in a way that makes him look ‘cool’ “I mean I guess I have my own guesses as to some things, but since you’re the professional here, and doing this is kind of your job, I think it would be best to ask you your ideas first before blurting out my nonsense conspiracy theories.”

Karkat was bewildered for a second by the fact that Strider had shown any form of awareness for himself and others, but quickly shook it off. He had to gather up his ideas for a second before he spoke. “I think it would have to be someone who is going through a hard time financially. Probably one of those sad motherfuckers who work in the mine shafts, looking for a little fame and fortune in their sad and miserable life, until they inevitably die choking up dust and dirt at the ripe age of twenty-five. They can’t be old, they’re too fast to have the pain brought upon doing sort of job around here for a reasonable amount of time. Especially work in the mines..” 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Dave shrugged, once again trying to stay either stoic or ironically jabbing at something. 

But then, suddenly, their conversation was rudely interrupted by the door to the downstairs was thrown open, slammed shut, then quickly followed by a melody of loud thunderous footsteps. Someone was sprinting around like their ass was on fire all while running a marathon, possibly wearing metal shoes. They would swing open a door, pause for a second to survey it, then jam it closed again. Who ever they were, they were getting closer, rising horrifically fast up the 

Dave looked completely horrified, the threatening sounds getting too close for comfort, he jumped up from the chair he was once calmly sat. He looked like he was about to piss himself. Reaching behind him to grab the sword that he still had strapped to his back, he took a defensive stance. His hands shook slightly as he pointed the weapon at the door. Karkat’s reaction was much less theatrical, opting just to yell. “OH WHAT THE SHIT?!?.”

Hearing Karkat’s loud ass voice, the mystery person ran straight for the room they were in. Then the door swung open like a violent gust of wind nearly blew it off the hinges. It was terrifying as it was powerful.

Wait- who the fuck is that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy, if you have any guesses throughout this I wanna know. Give me your theories


	7. just another milk carton kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHO DAT BOI. WHO HIM IS. WHO DAT BOI. WHO HIM IS?

SLAM!

It’s so fucking loud, and just oh too familiar. Each loud ass footstep that thundered though the air felt like someone stomping on my chest. This was way too familiar. This scenario has happened more then once and it’s bound to happen many times more until I die. That is unless that day is today, which it perfectly could be.

Oh god. He’s coming. He always finds me no matter how much I try to hide myself away. No matter if I travel half way across the country. No matter if the town isn’t even on the map. No matter if I basically erase any proof that I even exist. The motherfucker always finds me. It’s like he has some sort of chip inserted into my god damn brain, tracking me down like some sort of buried treasure. Only it’s not treasure, it’s me. And it’s not something people rejoice at, it means I’m going to find myself in yet another strife, fighting desperately for what life I have left. And the worst part is that he always finds me when I’m not expecting it. Shit, if he saw anything that had just transpired, he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at choking me dead. 

Shouldn’t have ever just let my guard down- I should have never stopped moving. I should have just tried to continue on to the next town, if stopping there at all- fuck- stopping at all isn’t safe. I need to keep moving. I can’t believe I’ve been so fucking stupid! Fuck!! Now not only am I going to be beaten senseless until I die or agree to his terms, but then there’s Karkat. He’s not even a part of this. An innocent bystander who is going to be tragically killed in the blast. An unarmed civilian against a fucking heartless machine. I genuinely can’t believe I’ve done this. 

“OH WHAT THE SHIT?!” Karkat yelled. Which caused me to jump a good foot from out of my chair, and revert to my default settings, which happened to be to reach behind my back and grab the totally sick ass sword I always have within arms distance. Not that I end up needing it all the time, it’s mostly for like, totally sick ass ninja tricks and shit. But sometimes it just so happens that I need to fight the good fight against the spare crazy ass sword wielding puppet fucking psychopath. It happens to everyone right? Totally. 

Sure, I almost fell over the shitty chair Karkat had in his trashy office while trying to prepare myself for the upcoming strife, and I may or may not have been shaking slightly. But it’s not like I was scared or anything. I’m no scaredy-cat bed wetting kid. I don’t wake up my parents to tell them I had a nightmare and curl up in bed with them. No, I was not scared. In fact, I was cooler than a cucumber, and that cucumber was on a nice beach vacation, a nice summer breeze tickling its green skin, a nice refreshing iced drinks in its hands. No other cucumber has known the extent to which this cucumber is relaxed. That’s me. Omega superchill. 

“Karkat- I know as tempting as it is for you to be a loud ass bekon for attention, it would be really nice for everyone here right now if you could calmly shut the fuck up? Or maybe just turn down the volume a couple notches? Like you have that shit all the way up and that shit is not good-“ 

The sound of someone stomping around downstairs stopped for a moment after Karkat opened his loud ass mouth. So by the time I finished quietly scolding him like some kind of frightful parent trying to calm their kid in a department store, the person had returned to their hunt. Quickly with booming powerful sounding movements, the person rose up the stairs, starting in our general area. 

God dammit, I really didn’t want this. I really really didn’t want this. Yet here it is, served by tall stoic man with a warped view of literally everything ever to exist. 

The door swung open.

Outside the door was the tall figure of a man firmly holding a fucking katana, with blonde hair that stood up in a way that defied gravity, and topped off with those goddamn anime shades. 

But it isn’t right. It isn’t really him. This guy is too young. Maybe being somewhere around twenty-eight? No more then that for sure. He looks like he carries himself nearly identically, only thing is that he seemed more calculated, like he was bottling in something instead of a simple lack of substance. I can see the cogs turn in his mind despite the shades. But that was about on of the only physical differences. 

“Dave? Dave Strider?” The guy asked, taking a hesitant step forward, his pointy cowboy boots jingled as he padded forward a few steps. Like he wasn’t sure how to approach the situation. Being so unsure made him look awkward, like he was wearing his shoes on the wrong feet and was only now starting to notice how fucking unconfotrable they had been for the past five god damn hours. He looked like the type who was used to being in control of the situation and has been suddenly thrown off schedule sending him flying off of his metaphorical high horse. 

But this guy, who ever he was, was not who I first thought he was. Mother fucker duped me. Got me good. Quite the jokester over here. Gotta say he got me. I have basically no idea who the hell this guy is, despite the fact he looks painfully familiar. Not because he is almost a younger carbon copy of a familiar figure in-which-willa-not-be-named, but he genuinely seems familiar. Like I’m supposed to remember him, but I just didn’t. 

I lower my sword slightly, but not entirely, enough that it wasn’t pointing square between this other guy’s eyes. I chuckled loosely, cause this whole thing was so fucking hilarious, even if it kinda felt like I was forcefully wrenching all the anxiety out of my throat in a shittily hidden cough before I spoke. It really didn’t help.

“Uh, yeah dude, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out, I know it’s pretty easy and all considered, but just put in a lil bit of effort for me yeah? And I don’t mean to be rude my man, but who the fuck are you and what the hell are you planning on doing here? Personally, I have too much experience just minding my own fucking buisness only to get butt fucked and or sucker punched by yet another asshole who wants a piece of this. So if you don’t mind telling me why you’re here? Maybe if you plan on killing me? That would be really really nice. Thanks.” My voice still shook like I’m really just some anxiety ridden middle school mess trying to talk to the hot girl two grades above him who has giant fucking tiddies. 

The guy just looked shocked, then offended, then finally deciding I’m being resentful pissed. Like he had just arrived fresh from his moldy crevice in his parents basement, and is now five seconds away from “ome wa shidedu”-ing my ass with his blessed katana-chan, all because I dissed his wifu. 

“You’re telling me you have no idea who I am? None? You’re going to look me dead in the eye and tell me you can’t even fathom being able to recollect anything at all discerning this face? Like absolutely jack shit. Like if I were to open, and peer into your fucking scull, you’re telling me that if I looked up myself in your memory bank that absolutely nothing would come up. That there would be just a fucking blank page with the name ‘Dirk Strider’ and this face at he top of it, and that’s fucking it?? Wait- sorry I forgot you literally don’t know who I am. Which, by default, means you don't even have an inkling as to my name, or anything about me. Which is just so fucked up.” 

This ‘Dick Strider’ guy just looked pissed and disappointed as he stowed his sword way into a sheath on his hip. He seemed to be calculation what to do, what to say. Like everything he thought was going to happen just got turned upside down then shaken like a snow globe, and so he is stuck in the water in the mists of the shitty chaotic plastic blizzard going on in his head. 

“If you are waiting for a response from me, I basically have no idea who you are. Other then the fact that you’re name is apparently ‘Dork Strider, or whatever?-”  
“It’s Dirk”  
“You somehow know me and look like someone I should remember but don’t? But that could be completely be due to you being nearly identical to my bro, just younger. But that’s all I got for you pal’.” I shrugged, trying my best to remain as totally unphased as my super epic ninja training has put such emphasis on.

However this just seemed to make ‘Dark Strider’ even more upset, his gloved fists clenching tightly like he wanted to straight up deck someone as he muttered something under his breath, but he quickly recovered, taking another step forward as he seemed to be closely examining every fucking detail on my face. It was creepy as shit and kinda weirded me out, but I said nothing. Cause if this guy is just trying to get a lil' looksie at the fine wares who’s to stop him? Certainly not me, cause im not the kind of guy to just stop another guy from getting his moment to really become inspector gadget and really inspect some shit. 

Then he sighed like some kind of tired war vet would before talking about the days back in ‘nam, like he was remembering something long lost, something dead. 

“Dave, I’m your older brother.”

There was only one person talking but it suddenly got too loud in that one room, maybe it was my own thoughts, maybe it was just the pressure of the realization, but there was suddenly way too much going on. But the marvelous thing is, he didn’t fucking stop talking there.

“I currently live with your sister, Roxy, and your twin sister Rose. When you were around like… six? Yeah, when you were around six our estranged father kidnapped you basically overnight with no signs of where the hell he went or why the hell took you. The only way we knew it was him that took you was through police descriptions of a sword wielding bandit with pointy sunglasses, using a young blonde child as a shield against authorities. We followed every case for like, four years? At least until he figured out we were onto him and began covering his tracks. Completely. There was barely any clues to follow. So we decided to stay here and lay low, assuming he would come back here one day, even if it was just to steal shit from us again.”

If this was a movie, this is the part where the record would scratch everything would freeze in a hilariously cartoonish way, only for me to look dead at the camera and say something between the lines of “You may be wondering what the literal fuck is happening here, and honestly? So am I. Hey there, my name is Dave Elisabeth Strider, and this is the story of how my life-” dramatic pause “-got turned upside down.” and then life would go on as normally scheduled. But how the actual shit am I suppose to go back to our regularly scheduled program after this surprise guest star family member just decided to rear their head in and drop this gigantic fucking bomb shell on me. Like I seriously might need an extended commercial break to be able to recover from this faux Nagasaki that has been o’ so suddenly dropped on my ass. 

I mean seriously, literally just five minuets ago I was just sittin here with my good pal’ Karkles talking about robberies and murder. And now there’s a guy who has plowed through the entirety of this fine fucking istablishment, only to tell me my bro isn’t actually my brother, but really my dad who stuffed me in a sack and took me awak from my family like some sort of shitty anti-Santa clause? And not only that, but these people had been looking for me this entire time? Like they wanted me back here? With them?

I honest to god don’t think one person has gotten their shit flipped so dramatically and so quickly in the history of paradox space. The only way I can describe it is how it would feel sitting in a preschool classroom with a fucking black hole right outside your window. There’s just this gigantic void that remains safely behind a large pane of glass. It looms over you and watches your every fucking move, and any second it can rip open and swallow you, and everything around you whole. Leaving you dead or infinitely comatose or something. Just lingering ever so slightly out of focus there’s an entity that threatens everything by simply existing, but it just sits there outside the window, menacingly. But not only that, but in the room you’re actually in, you are surrounded by fucking chaos, or little shits formally known as children. All of which are either screaming for absolutely no reason whatsoever, running in random directions, destroying things or random combinations of the three, because children are agents of chaos if not stopped. But you’re not going to stop them. Sure you can’t hear yourself think and you feel claustrophobic despite the space you have, and there is so much going on in one moment and there is so much fucking danger, both all around you, and distant. A wringing chaotic scene of anxiety topped off with a dollop of existential dread. 

That’s what it feels like.

But you know, as they say. “Snap back to reality- oh, there goes gravity.” And thus I did, curling over and choking on stray emotion in my throat like how a cat coughs up a hairball. It kinda felt like I couldn’t breathe for a good second there? But I doubt anyone else noticed, considering my sly skills when it comes to being an unshakable cool guy. Cause let’s not forget I speak, breathe and eat Strider brand cool-guy.

“Why the hell should I believe you? I’ve gone my entire life without seeing or hearing hide nor hair of any of you. I had- If you are really telling the truth you basically left me alone in the hands of a total psychopath to die, and if you aren’t telling the truth you’re most definitely someone hired to kill me! So either way- why the actual fuck should I trust you?”

I have to admit, in that moment I really wasn’t sounding all that ‘cool guy’ if anything, I was sounding more ‘needs to cool guy’. Cause I may have been yelling, and I might have brought my sword back up to point at ‘Darg Stider’s pointy emotionless dickhead face, and that sword may have been shaking like a fucking newborn baby bird, but it was just a temporary slip up. 

The reason it was only temporary however, stood smack dab in between the doorway where ‘Drake Strider’ stood, with his boot cut jeans and those little leather frillies cowboys use to wear on their shoulders, and myself, on the opposite side of the room with a sword held out in front of me like it’s the only thing that could actually save me from a quickly oncoming death. Karkat had just been standing there watching as shit went down from behind his cluttered desk. He looked genuinely concerned with where this went, probably because its his “fucking job to make sure the boneheads that live in this hell pit of a town don’t have an anurisum and kill eachother in a blind moment of sheer stupidity.” as he put it. It could have just been my eyes playing tricks on me, but he seemed to be actually concerned about the entire situation, not out of it being a legal requirement but because he actually cared. 

Either way, I couldn’t just totally dox myself and my dark past to this guy. It would be totally uncool of me in ways that I could never possibly atone for. I would never be the same in his eyes, any fleeting respect he might have had for me would completely vanish if I broke composure right now and went off whining and crying like a little kid would after stubbing their toe. It would be a completely pathetic display of emotions, and Karkat, like any reasonable person, would ollie the fuck out and hit the ground running. Which simply was not okay and not going to happen. 

You wanna know why it won’t happen? Cause it was all temporary. And I put a lid on that quicker than Usain Bolt’s record breaking 100 meter dash, and screwed that shit on tighter than the historic union between peanut butter and jelly. Newly captured within the undisclosed container, the prior mentioned shit will never manage to see the light of day again. Never again will it have the freedom to express itself or leave the confines of its container. Never again will it’s words be heard spoken from outside of its little box. Hell, it wasn’t supposed to be out at all, that shit was never free to roam around. So this right here is the guards swarming in and dragging that shit away before it can do any real damage. 

“I never asked you to. I don't know what he has done and what you have experienced, it would be completely unfair of me to expect that from you after only now hearing about my existence at all. I was of course hoping for a nice warm reunion where you actually remembered me and you’d come back with us and we’d all just be together for a change. But sometimes you gotta work for that shit. It’s okay if you don’t trust me, you don’t have to. But we will always be here to help, and have a room open for you if you want it.” Dirk responded simply, in a way void of any comfort, but full of understanding. 

This guy just loves knocking me on my ass with shit I’m not expecting doesn’t he? I mean seriously, god damn can’t he give a guy a break? I mean the fact that he isn’t pushing it makes it less plausible he actually wants to kill me? And if anything makes him seem twice as trustworthy. 

I shook my head denying the notion, but lowered my sword,

“Listen, uh, Dirv? Was it?-”  
“its Dirk”  
“-Yeah, anyway, I don’t know you or those other two ladies you mentioned. Something about me having a twin? Well I don’t know her. Sure, I could get to know her, and who knows, I might. But after I get to know her I might actually take you up on that offer. But for now I’m sorry but that's going to have to be a no for me,” I shrugged casually, “I’ll see you around at a later date, maybe tomorrow or something. But until then? Sorry bud, but I would really appreciate some time to just sit and digest this shit” 

There was yet another moment of tense silence, not like there had been a sudden depict for those within the past ten goddamn minutes. But he nodded, said a brief goodbye, then turned out the door.

Immediately after I heard him leave the building I relaxed immensely, releasing my ass I didn’t even notice I was clenching as I put away my sword with a long tired sigh. Parking my ass in the seat once again I came to the conclusion that I was indeed, fuckin wiped. It was a unanimous vote among the jury, everyone in the court agreed to shut the fuck up and just go to sleep right here in the court. I honestly couldn't tell if I had been this tired the entire time and only just now or if the whole exchange with ‘Dig Strider’ was really that taxing. I assume it was a little of both as I put my arms on the desk in front of me and rest my head on it. Honest to god I nearly feel asleep, like a overexerted baby just passing out wherever it can manage to put it’s head down. But it’s never really that easy.

After shuffling around moving papers and doing nothing for a few minutes,Karkat huffed, “Hey, Strider.” then tapped incessantly on my shoulder, shouting “Hey! The fuck are you doing!?!” 

“Jus’ restin’, getting comfy, closing my eyes a bit. Whaddabout you, crabby?” I peered up to him tiredly, my head still in my arms.

“You are not staying here overnight, I hope you know that.” 

“oh.“ I paused, looking up and propping myself up to actually look at him, peering at me as he stood above me, annoyed and unnamused “Yeah yeah, sure thing Karks, I’ll just.. Go somewhere… I guess… I gotchu” 

The short frumpy looking fella took in the deepest inhale through his nose while pinching his nose with his fingers, “No- It’s fine.” He paused to gumble in annoyance under his breath and roll his large sunken in eyes “Just for today, only today, I’ll let you have the spare mattress we have in the cellar. After tonight you are either going to go with your long lost family, or sleep on the street. Okay? One time only. One. Singular. Uno. Deal?”

“Deal”

He gathered up his things and I waited like some sort of obedient dog at the door. It was silent while he lead me to his house. No one else was out accept for those who were still out drinking, but we paid them no mind. It was dark, tranquil, as all is in a small sleepy town on a brisk summer night. 

Then I arrived at his place and promptly passed out on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how do you spell Dirk Strider? Only wrong answers please.


	9. This is what happens when you leave a kid alone with a sociopathic hit man/sex worker for eleven years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GOOD MORNING SWEETIE. DID YOU GO AND POISON ME?   
ptsd stands for probably totally sick dude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one is so short. I'm basically just procrastinating writing the actual case. It's genuinely scaring me. lmaollamalalalaooaooao

The next day marks the first day of this case where I have some legitimate and substantial assistance. Sure it has come in the form of Dave fucking Strider, which is to say it is borderline useless and just a nuisance at best. Something is better than anything, but it was hard to remind myself that when I literally had to step over his unconscious body splayed out on my dining room floor. His long brimmed hat and magnum douchebagary reflectors were tilted slightly, but still present on his face, despite how horribly strange it was, because apparently he didn’t give a fuck weather or not he looked like a tool. 

However, while curled in the middle the floor like some sort of house dog. Because apparently the couch and the mattress I had told him he could go find in the cellar weren’t up to his unmatchable standards, opting rather then to sleep on the cold ass hardwood. And while recovering from two gunshot wounds!!! He’s curled up like that even though he’s been shot in the chest!? What a fucking dumbass!! 

And that dumbassery was most likely the reason he was laying on the ground shaking like a leaf in his sleep, sometimes wincing, gasping or making other noises that made him sound like some sort of kicked puppy. So, being a great host, I attempted to pick him up once again and dragging him onto the couch. This always ends up happening doesn’t it? I thought that while taking the blanket I leave draped over my couch for moments just like these, and throwing it over the asshole. Because this guy is my partner and I don’t want to be the sad sack left with an endless sea of work because Mr. “I’m not overcomepsating for my totally normal sized dick” is to sick or dead to work. insecure about my totally normal sized dick” was too injured or sick to work.

But despite that I just can’t shake the look the stupid bastard shot me when I slid him a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. He had just woken up with a muffled groan, peered around like he didn’t remember where he was, then stumbled over towards the kitchen table I was at. The entire spectacle was similar to the way a zombie would rise from the dead. He is already fucking brainless so I guess the jackass is already halfway there. 

He then sat down at the table across for me, tipping his hat at me curtly with a half awake grin, the kind that sorta resembles what someone looks like stoned out of their fucking cranium, then muttered a quiet little “mornin’ sunshine,” his voice was low and croaky from the good eight hours he got passed out on my living room floor. was like he didn’t know what it was or what the gesture even meant, like he had never even seen this shit before, completely unsure as to how to approach this bowl sitting in front of him.

Only seconds away from telling him something between the lines of “it’s called oatmeal. It’s not going to try to eat you.”, realization finally struck him over the head like a hammer. Within a second he shifted from being a clueless dumbfuck with half a brain cell max, to a literal child who has just gotten an Xbox for Christmas, despite the fact they had been told multiple times they weren't going to get any big presents this year because dad got laid off and the family is going through some financial troubles. He picked up his spoon, but then he faltered, his expression dropping back to its extremely rigid blank deadpan. Hovering his hand over the food dramatically, he looked back up at me.

“You’re just going to give me this? Like, no strings attached? Like this could easily be a test of some kind- You could just give me this nice warm food, then turn around and try to turn me into a human fucking kabab. All because I let my guard down- hell, I didn’t watch you make it- it could be riddled with rat poison or something, hell if I know. So just double checking, you’re totally not going to do me like that right? Cause that would just be rude. Honestly? Real gentlemen don’t stab each other at breakfast. That’s like the first thing they teach you in pompous manners school, that and to hold up your pinky while drinking food. I mean. Tea. They drink tea right? Fancy people?” He rambled, at some point putting the spoon back on the table to talk with his hands. 

“Hold on, literally what the fuck are you talking about? I’m giving you this out of the fucking goodness of my massive heart, cause you seem to be completely unable to take care of yourself for some godforsaken reason. You’re like a child that needs someone to wipe the dribble off their pudgy ass chin!! Do you seriously think I’m trying to make an assassination attempt on your ass? I pass out at the sight of blood- there is no plausible way I could do something like that. Plus, you’re my only help in this case, even though you’re next to useless, you’re the only help I’ve got. What the fuck would even point to me wanting to kill you? Where is your evidence or are you basing your claim on complete and utter horse shit? Of course. And they call me a spaz?”

Strider shifted in his chair uncomfortably, eyeing the bowl sitting threateningly on the wooden table, then he huffed humorously his movements suddenly very loose, casual and almost sloppy. 

“I mean, I know it’s a lot to take in but I’m kind of a big deal. A lot of powerful people want a slice of this moist savory ass served delicately on a cake saucer. Motherfuckers mouths be watering at the mere thought of getting a piece. They see me through the window and eye me up with the predatory urge to cut me open. My icing is made by the most crafted of bakers and they layers are stacked evidently and elegantly. Like I got those little pastel flower designs and shit. And those bastards have tried to just break into the store and take a piece, got their greasy goddamn fingerprints all over the window during their stalking session.” 

When he spoke, he did so with his hands, with fluid motions as he leaned forward on arm closer to me. He seemed to be trying to keep his expression flat, but he was still rather easy to read through his body language alone. With one hand out in front of him doing what will be known as ‘scratching a record’ in the future.

“Get to the fucking point Strider”

“Right- well- uh, it’s just routine to do right? Like, whenever you receive food from a short angry guy with enough rage to fuel the sun, you just gotta make sure the lil guy isn’t trying to kill you, right? And that applies to everyone. I know for a fact that a lot of people want a piece of this and you could just be really good at acting. But I think I can trust you. You did save my life after all, so I should be able to do that.. Plus, we’re partners now. We’re in it for the long haul buddy, me and you, Dave and Karkat, partners in c- I mean partners solving crime. That’s us now baby. A dynamic duo destined for the fucking big screen. They’re going to make musicals about how epic we are- but musicals are gay as fuck so maybe not…”

Something is wrong here. Why the actual fuck would someone think that? 

Thinking back to it, last night Dirk was going off about some supposedly really messed up shit. Kidnapping? The fact that that was the most expressional I had ever seen him should be evidence enough that something really fucked up has happened, or is still happening. Is this guy just pretending to be important to get attention and be a genuine asshole, or is he expresses the fact that there is actually something out to get him in the only way he knows how. 

Why the fuck does everything in my life have to be so god damn chaotic?

“Listen, Strider- Dave. I’m not a part of whatever the hell you’re spouting off about right now. I am unarmed, the closest weapon being strapped to both your back and belt, and I wouldn’t poison this cause I made this all at once.” 

I stood up, my chair squeaking flatteringly as I leaned over the table with a scowl. I took a portion of the runny mush I had cursed upon this earth from out of his bowl and at it, quickly and angrily, then eating it in a very dramatic fashion to prove to him I’m no psycho murdering fuckall who lures people into their home by asking them to help solve a crime, then poisoning their dumbass after they woke up the next day. 

“The only way this could possibly kill you is because of how horrible and tasteless it is, causing you to keel over in blandness induced shock. And then yeah, sure, I’m totally trying to kill you” I said with a horribly deadpan expression, one that basically screams ‘look at yourself and wipe up futile mistakes you repugnant dumbfuck,’ before sitting my ass back into my chair.

The motherfucker of course did nothing more than laugh at me for whatever reason, pointing his thin ass finger threateningly close to my face, a sly shit eating grin smothered across his face, the kind that makes him look extra punchable, like more so then the absurd amount I already do every single time I talk to him. 

“Is that the first time you’ve called me by my actual name? Da’ww! Kaaaarkles! You really do care about me!” His voice was pumped full of mockery, every word a sharp elbow jab to my ever more non existent pride, “You know, I might have had my doubts about you, but you’re really not that bad Fussy McShouty-pants. Has anyone ever mentioned you really know how to treat a girl right? Damn, your girlfriend must be a lucky lady.”

I of course sighed and rolled my eyes, this is just degrading and there is literally nothing he could gain from doing this to me. Jack-fucking-squat, I shot him a glare that would hopefully cut him into bite sized pieces to make it easier when I chew him out for this bullshit. 

“You would be unfortunately mistaken Strider, I do not have one of those. I don’t really do relationships. They’re messy as fuck and just generally a nucance.” I spat, sinking deeper into my seat and continuing to eat as I had been, only now I was seething anger, breathing through clenched teeth. 

Strider, however, remained completely unfased. Uttering a simple and surprised “oh.”

He at the entire bowl and asked for seconds within a minute.


End file.
